Warwick Avenue
by xXfireXflyXx
Summary: Voldemort leaves Hogwarts stunned in 1957 when Albus Dumbledore does, in fact, grant him the position of professor. Fully aware of the old man's scheming, he is extra cautious when another young professor, Minerva McGonagall, watches him carefully.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I've wanted to explore the relationship between Voldemort and McGonagall in a different setting for a long time, and I finished my last Tom/Minerva series not feeling fully satisfied. Therefore, I think I will take a different approach to it this time around. **

**Now, the lines in italics are taken **_**directly**_** from JK Rowling's book, 'The Half-Blood Prince', and there is no way in hell they are mine. No. Not mine, not at all. I used them to set the scene. Full credit to her. I want to explore the 'what if?' side of Dumbles wanting to keep a closer watch on Voldemort, and what better way to do it than to shove him right under his nose?**

**For those of you who might not remember, in the book, Voldemort came back to hide his last horcrux in the castle. Dumbledore says he did genuinely want the position, evidenced by the fact that no other professor could hold the position for more than a year after he left. For now, I'm playing with an alternative.**

**The writing style in this, the prologue, is deliberately brief. I wanted to sort of play off JK's writing style to help keep the flow of the book to this fanfic intact. The other chapters will probably be more my style, with the majority of the story alternating between Voldemort and Minerva's points of view. **

**I hope you enjoy it! I'm really excited to get started. The title is based on Duffy's song by the same name. It's a fantastic song, and I always wanted to use it for Tom and Min. **

**Much love! Let me know what you think!**

_"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want."_

_Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want. On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."_

_"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once."_

_Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job —"_

Dumbledore smiled, a smile that he knew a man like Tom would never be able to fully comprehend, and managed to cut him off swiftly, "But I do, Tom."

There was a stunned silence from the other side of the table. Voldemort's sallow complexion paled a hint more, and then his eyes darkened, "What?"

"I would like to offer you the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained calmly, his hands folded together neatly as they rested on his desk. "After all, you were the best pupil this school has seen to date… I would be remiss if I didn't give you an opportunity to shine once more in these halls."

The man's lip twitched, and for a moment Albus pondered if he was at a loss for words. It would certainly be a first if that was the case. Even in his school years, Tom Riddle always had something to say when Dumbledore tracked him down in the hallways, or after class. How funny that when he was given something he actually wanted, he faltered.

"And…" he managed finally, his voice strained, "if I were to decline the offer?"

"Then I might ask you to fully explain why you have come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore reasoned, his thick eyebrows shooting up. "What else might draw you back, Tom?"

"This job was all I wanted," the man sneered venomously, his knuckles white as a pair of fists sat patiently in his lap. "I… It's very generous of you to actually offer me the job. I… I find it very hard to turn down."

"Now, now," Dumbledore mused, holding up a finger. "There are some conditions to your acceptance."

"Oh?"

"Your… friends are not welcome on school grounds," Dumbledore explained, referring to the lackeys who followed Tom's every word. "You will be fired if they set one foot near any of the students. Do I make myself clear?"

Voldemort sat silently, much as he had done many years ago when Dumbledore questioned him over the disappearance of one of the students in his house. He claimed to know nothing, but sat with that bitter, angry expression just the same. Albus always knew of his guilt, but he lacked the proof. It wouldn't be the same this time around. He was going to take down the ominous Lord Voldemort, if it was the last thing he did in this world.

"Secondly," he continued, holding up a second finger, "you will be known as Professor Riddle within the castle. The name you go by now is unacceptable to use, as many of the children are worried enough about your doings in the wizarding world. I won't allow it."

Voldemort smirked a little, but his eyes raged on dangerously. Dumbledore had, no doubt, foiled his true plans for this visit to the castle.

"Thirdly," he carried on, "you will teach what is prescribed by the curriculum of Hogwarts. I always allow my professors to experiment, but should I discover you are teaching my students dark magic, I will personally ensure you never leave Azkaban."

"A daunting fate indeed," was the only response he managed. Dumbledore stared down at the man across from him, his blue eyes steely.

"Finally, you will be monitored closely. If you wish to teach and impart knowledge to my pupils in the proper manner, I will keep you in your post. If you break my conditions, I will catch you, Tom."

Dark, bored eyes stared back at him, and once again the man said nothing of substance. Dumbledore sighed, and then leaned forward a hint, "Do you accept my terms?"

There was a very long pause, until finally Voldemort nodded, "For now."

"Careful, Tom."

"I'm always careful, Dumbledore," Voldemort hissed, his eyes narrowing. "You of all people should know that."

"Painfully so," Dumbledore remarked quietly. "If you accept, I will have the contract drawn up tonight and owled to you in the morning. You will start this fall."

"Excellent."

Both men rose from their seats at the same time, but neither extended a hand to shake. Steady eye contact was held, like two opponents squaring off before a duel. Voldemort was the first to turn away. Dumbledore watched his back as he retreated toward the door of his office, before finally stepping around his desk and stalking off after him.

"Why don't I escort you out?" he suggested, forcing the younger man to pause with a hand on the doorknob. He wasn't about to let him do anything in the halls just yet. No, he didn't have his ace on Voldemort's heels. For now, and most likely for always, the man couldn't be trusted.


	2. When I get to Warwick Avenue

Minerva always felt a glimmer of excitement when September rolled around again. It was a feeling she knew well, and had known the moment she boarded her train to take her to Hogwarts when she was eleven. It wasn't as though she ran from an unstable home life, or anything, but Hogwarts was certainly different from the bustle of downtown Edinburgh in the 1940s. She enjoyed the serenity the castle offered, and the vast wealth of knowledge that one might attain if they took the time to do so. During her seven years in the castle, she thought she grew into herself tremendously. The woman was studious, had a no-nonsense attitude (even with her closest friends), and became captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in her fifth year. She excelled in the majority of her classes, but really took a shining to Albus Dumbledore and his transfigurations lectures. In fact, the man became something a mentor and friend as she got older, and although he never said so explicitly, she was quite sure he had a heavy hand in getting her a job at the Ministry after she graduated.

While her brother took the life of an artist in Ireland, Minerva graduated with every intention of making something of herself in a way that would benefit the magical world as a whole in the United Kingdom. Therefore, the Ministry seemed like the best place to become situated. She immersed herself deep in magical law, and after a few years of training she became a lawyer. However, it wasn't a particularly satisfying career. Yes, she could benefit or harm people, depending on her defense, but the profession itself never seemed as appealing as it ought to be. However, the woman stuck with it for nearly ten years, picking up odd assignments here and there within the Ministry whenever there was a need for it. By 1956, at the age of thirty-one, Minerva felt herself becoming stretched too thin over this career. Filled with arrogant wizards and ignorant clients, it just wasn't a place where she wanted to be anymore.

She and Albus kept in touch over the years, usually meeting on holidays to catch up on their lives. He was also instrumental in her training to become an Animagus. While her tabby cat was her inspiration, Dumbledore was the push she needed to really drive herself. By the time she was twenty-five, Minerva was a registered Animagus with the Ministry, and could perform an obscene number of complicated magical acts outside of their knowledge. Her former professor was always impressed with her private progress in the magical arts, but she never expected anything from him. Nothing more than companionship and a good drink at Christmas time… and perhaps some juicy stories about the comings and goings at Hogwarts.

That same year, however, Dippet retired, and Dumbledore moved up as headmaster to replace him. It was all over the news, and when Minerva met with him in the spring of that year, she was thrilled for him. It was the position he had always deserved, and she knew he would be an excellent, impartial headmaster. However, she soon discovered that their meeting wasn't simply to celebrate his ascension to headmaster, but to offer her a once in a lifetime opportunity to replace him as transfigurations professor at Hogwarts. Minerva was shocked, to say the least, and insisted that there ought to be someone better out there for the position. After all, she had never actually taught anyone anything, unless they considered the fact that she tutored many of her friends in various subjects while actually a student at the castle. Despite her protests, Dumbledore was adamant that Minerva take his position. He claimed that no one would suit it more, but if she really wanted to continue down the path of remaining a lawyer with the Ministry, she was free to do so. He gave her the choice.

The decision was easy; Minerva accepted the following afternoon. It all happened so quickly. After contracts were signed and a salary was negotiated – one much less than her current position allotted her, but Minerva had never cared much for money – she was thrust headfirst into the teaching profession. Dumbledore still needed to finish out the 1955 school year in his actual position, so Minerva spent the last two months of the year watching him teach. Their styles were completely different; Albus was always very relaxed, but controlled with his pupils. When Minerva would eventually teach, she became something a disciplinarian. Before that, she spent months working with the provided curriculum to come up with lesson plans and activities for all seven years of students, the level of difficulty changing dramatically with each increasing year.

Her first year of teaching was dreadfully nerve-wracking. Minerva hid her emotions well, and settled in with her fellow staff members remarkably fast in September of 1956. However, it was a little more difficult wrangling in some of her more headstrong pupils. There were many late night chats in Albus' office regarding the issue, and he informed that she needed to be the tough woman they both knew Minerva was capable of being. For a time, she wanted the students to like her, and she wasn't necessarily as harsh as she could have been toward the idiocy. However, Dumbledore warned her about it; she was a young professor, inexperienced at best, and they could all sense it. If she didn't stand her ground, they would continue to walk all over her. Minerva finally found her footing halfway through the first term, and became known for docking points (even with her former house), marking assignments harshly, but also giving rare praise when it was most deserved.

During that first year, Rolanda Hooch became ill just after Christmas, and when no other professor stepped forth – no doubt in fear of taking on too much on top of other extracurricular activities – Minerva volunteered to take over the Quidditch league. For students that feared her, this was a chance to see her fun side. She absolutely adored the sport, and was an excellent Chaser back in her day. She was referee for the remainder of the year, and upon Hooch's return, took over as the Quidditch trainer for the Gryffindor team.

All in all, her first year was a success. She had become great friends with the other members of the staff, becoming especially close with Pomona Sprout, and found a few students who were really taken with her. Many would have great futures ahead of them, so long as they applied themselves. She and Dumbledore were as close as ever, if not closer, and she was genuinely sad to have to leave for the summer. Professors did have the opportunity to remain within the castle for the year, should they not have anywhere else to go, but that wasn't the case for Minerva. She had a home back in the highlands of Scotland, where she raised horses and lived alongside other country wizarding families. However, she did sorely miss the castle during the warmer months of the year.

The last week of August was a wonderful time indeed. Her lesson plans were finally finished, and everything was packed for the return trip to Hogwarts. She wasn't required to bring all of her luggage with her, as Dumbledore had worked out a deal that the kitchen house elves would visit each professor to grab the majority of their bags. When the little creatures arrived, Minerva directed them to two large trucks, and the rest had been shrunken down and set in the pockets of her dress. Clad in a dark green and brown dress, one with shortened sleeves and deep pockets in the thick skirts, Minerva bid her country home one last farewell after she secured the horses. Her dark, long auburn hair hung loose around her shoulders, and swayed in the breeze as she sauntered down the stone pathway to her apparating point. After she gave her home one final look, she vanished from sight, only to appear in the village of Hogsmeade some ways away.

She wasn't particularly sure how the house elves got back inside the castle, but Minerva enjoyed her leisurely stroll from the homey village back to her old home. It was remarkably quiet, for now, but she guessed all the residents enjoyed it. Very soon, the place would be swarming with students on alternating weekends, and no one would get a moment of peace until Christmas holidays. Once on the grounds, her first stop was to visit the groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. She had known the half-giant since their school days, and after that terrible incident with the attacks, Dumbledore invited the boy to live as a guest on campus so long as he worked. The man was quite pleased the Minerva had come to visit, and even offered to brew her a fresh pot of tea so he could hear about her summer. However, the overwhelming stench of dog drool and other creatures in his hut was a little overpowering, and Minerva insisted that they would catch up once she had properly settled in.

The next stop was to the greenhouses, where she happily stumbled upon Pomona tending to some seedlings at the back. They exchanged a hug, and a brief conversation about their summers, after which she was informed that Albus wanted to see her as soon as she arrived. With a slight roll of her eyes and a little laugh, Minerva continued on into the castle, her feet leading her directly to the headmaster's office. Where else would Albus be? The gargoyles leapt aside when she uttered the password, one that Albus had sent out in a letter the week before to all the staff, and Minerva darted up the revolving staircase quickly. The door was open when she arrived at the top, and she poked her head inside. As she suspected, Albus puttered happily around his office, a few textbooks in hand, and seemed completely in a world all to his own. She watched him for a little while, not really in the mood to disturb him, until he finally caught her.

"Ah, Minerva!" Dumbledore grinned, setting the books down on his desk, "Come in, come in… I had hoped someone would send you my way before you started to set up your office."

"I've only just arrived," she explained as she marched into the room, clasping his hand in a brisk shake. He shook his head, and then pulled her into a hug, one that she happily accepted from her former mentor. "Pomona said you were looking for me."

"Indeed I was," he sighed, gripping her by the upper arms for only a brief moment before turning away. "Have a seat, Minerva… There is something I would like to discuss with you."

She gauged the seriousness of his tone swiftly, and did as she was told. It was only a subtle change from his previous demeanour, but anyone who knew Dumbledore as well as she did would be able to detect it.

"Is everything all right?" Minerva inquired as she settled into the plush chair in front of his desk. She knew the question pertained only to the school; not everything was right in this wizarding world. It seemed that after Dumbledore had vanquished Grindelwald, a replacement sprung up from nowhere to continue to race for magical purity in their community. The terrorist wasn't a huge threat, for the moment, but Minerva listened to Dumbledore when he had told her that the man's following was growing too quickly. If he wasn't a problem now, Voldemort (as he was rumoured to be called) was going to become a problem in the future.

"Everything is as it should be at the moment," Dumbledore insisted calmly as he too took a seat, his long fingers folded together neatly atop his desk. "But they can change at the drop of a hat, I'm afraid."

Minerva frowned, "And what might we be discussing here?"

As much as she adored Dumbledore, she really wished the man wouldn't speak in riddles all the time. She had come to take it as one of his many quirks, but by now, Minerva had hoped he trusted her enough to speak plainly.

"We have a new professor at Hogwarts this year," Dumbledore explained. "He is taking over the position as Defence Against the Dart Arts professor… I believe you might remember him from school. His name is Tom Riddle."

Her eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She did recall a Tom Riddle, but he was in the year below her, and in Slytherin house. "He won a lot of awards for his academic merit."

"That he did," Dumbledore continued with a nod. "He is a brilliant man, but doesn't fully understand the simplest things… I… I'm afraid to admit it, but I cannot fully trust him."

"Why did you hire him then?" Minerva demanded, "If you can't trust him, why would you put him near students?"

"Because, Minerva, for all his flaws, he has the potential to inspire the right way, should he choose to do so," the man explained, "but I fear he won't. I worry about his intentions, and I know he travels deep in the dark arts."

Minerva pursed her thin lips, and then shook her head, "I would never doubt your judgment, Albus. From here until the end you know that I am behind you completely. If you believe he has the potential to do something worthwhile here, then I trust you."

He gave her a calculating look, one that signified the gears were turning in his brain, and she cocked her head to the side, daring him to challenge her loyalty. Minerva would move heaven and earth for the man in front of her, the man who had been a better father to her than her own.

Finally, after an eternal silence had passed, and an understanding was met, Dumbledore informed her of the mission she now had for the year.

"I need you to watch him carefully," he explained. "I will do my best to ensure you are together for night rounds and the like, but you need to be around him whenever possible. He has… ulterior motives for coming back to the castle, and I haven't figured them out yet."

"I'll do my best to remind him that someone is always watching at Hogwarts," Minerva replied, taking the quest on without a second of hesitation. Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"I knew I could count on you, Minerva," he stated, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Now, before we discuss your summer, perhaps you could go make your presence known to Riddle. He's in his office on the second floor. He's been here for about a day now, and he needs to know immediately that someone will always be nearby."

She nodded, and gathered her skirts in her hands to facilitate walking. The small heel of her shoe made a little noise as she exited the office, but echoed noisily in the empty hallways as she marched toward the second floor. It was a relatively simple assignment. She just needed to ensure that this Tom Riddle didn't find himself in any mischief at any point this year. Naturally, Dumbledore couldn't expect her to be on him all the time… She had her own lessons to worry about, and Quidditch trials would start next week once the students arrived. It was going to be a busy start of the term, but Dumbledore's assignment would never be far from her mind.

Her feet found their way from Dumbledore's office to Riddle's new one in a matter of ten minutes. She had been distracted by a few portraits on the way, and stopped to inform them that her summer was lovely, and it was wonderful to be back at Hogwarts. Some of them could be so chatty! The door was partially closed when she arrived, and she could hear shuffling inside as she approached. Minerva was never one to shy away from anything, as evidenced by her placement in the Gryffindor house, and she knocked hard enough on the door to send it open, creaking noisily to announce her arrival.

The man looked up from his desk, but he had certainly changed from the Tom Riddle she remembered back in school. That Tom Riddle had been an attractive teen the year below her, though their interactions were limited at best. He didn't start playing Quidditch until her last year, and even then he was a Seeker, and they had no real need to come together. This man before her had clearly grown up into someone different. Tall, lean, with a head of dark hair and pale skin, there were some resemblances to the person she once knew. However, when their eyes met, she noticed the greatest difference. Standing merely a few feet apart, she saw how dark they were. Not literally, mind you, but a sinking feel started in the pit of her stomach as soon as eye contact was made. The whites were no longer white, but rather a yellow hue, and she wondered if he was ill.

"I'm not sure if you'll remember me," Minerva started, her voice crisp and clear as ever, no hint of nerves in front of the man Albus Dumbledore did not trust, "but we went to school together… I was a year above you-"

"Minerva McGonagall."

Her smile faltered for a moment. The way he said her name was so matter-of-fact, so much a statement, that she wondered if she hadn't changed since school. Perhaps he paid more attention than she did to students in other houses, but that seemed highly unlikely. He stepped forward in her silence, the hem of his lengthy black cloak sweeping the floor as he did so.

"I saw your name on the roster this morning," he explained, his tone warming only slightly the more he spoke, "and I recall you were Gryffindor's Quidditch captain when I started to play…"

"Yes, that's right," she commented, regaining her footing as quickly as she could. She extended her hand for him to shake, "Albus told me you arrived last night, and since I know what it's like to be the new professor, I thought I'd come up to make sure you were settling in properly."

He looked down at her extended hand, which she refused to drop until he shook it, and then arched an eyebrow. After a very long moment, he finally reached out and touched her, his hand cold, and then smiled slightly, "How thoughtful of you. I'm sure Dumbledore also wanted to make sure I was… settling in properly."

"He cares a lot for his staff," Minerva reasoned, slightly uncomfortable that he hadn't released her hand yet, "but I came here on my own accord, I assure you."

His grip tightened momentarily, but she held her calm until he finally retracted his hand, a bemused expression on his face, "Again… So very thoughtful of you. I'm glad to see old school rivalries haven't lasted."

"Well," she said with a grin. "We should wait until the Quidditch season starts again… The staff do get very competitive when their houses play."

"I'll watch what I say when Slytherin beats everyone, as per usual," he remarked cheekily, the first real hint of a smile she had seen thus far.

"We'll see," Minerva replied diplomatically. "I'm coaching the Gryffindor team this year… Slytherin will need to bring their best if they want a shot at the cup."

He smiled this time, a full smile, one that seemed more predatory than genuine, and Minerva arched an eyebrow curiously. Tom finally turned away, his back to her as he flicked his wand at a box, which began unpacking itself, "It's strange to be here… discussing Quidditch. Almost like I've never left..."

"The feeling will wear off," Minerva assured him, taking a few confident steps into his office, studying the way he had decorated. "You'll soon realize the differences returning as a professor."

"I should hope so," he remarked quietly, his back still to her. "Thank you for checking in on me. I am finding everything is more similar than different thus far."

His office was slightly smaller than hers, and she wondered if professors got their office size based on seniority. After all, Slughorn's office was much larger than hers, and he had been teaching here well over a decade longer than she had. Maybe as time passed, she could negotiate a bigger office. If Tom lasted the year, he could do the same. For now, the stone walls were sparse, but the bookcases filled with thick tomes. It was always interesting to study a person's office; one could see where their priorities rested.

"I won't take up too much of your time then," Minerva informed the man, "but if you need anything, my office is on the first floor."

"Thank you."

Minerva frowned. He still didn't have the decency to turn back and face her, despite the fact she was being perfectly civil, if not overly polite by her standards. After she realized he had ended the conversation on his own terms, she turned on her heel and moved to exit the room, when a thought struck her. A way to keep an eye on him, and decide how he would react around students…

"Ah, Riddle," she started, turning back to watch him whirl around quickly, an irritated expression on his face. It was an expression she pointedly ignored, "Each year, Dippet had a tradition that the youngest staff member would lead the first years into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. Dumbledore has kept on with the tradition, mostly because older members would rather sit at the table than march around with first years… Seeing as you are younger than me by a year, that charge would now lie with you."

His lip curled upward, "How… exciting."

"My thoughts exactly," she mused, "but perhaps I could give you a hand on the night. They are quite a handful when they first get off the train."

Tom pursed his lips, no doubt debating which was worse; first years alone, or Minerva helping him. It must have been a tricky question for a man with his air of arrogance.

"I would appreciate the… support."

"It'll be their first impression of you, so make it count," she told him, happy to now end the conversation on _her_ terms. "Good afternoon, Riddle. I'll see you for dinner tonight…"

And with that, she departed. This character may have been tough for some, but Minerva thrived on putting people in their rightful place. He was arrogant, a little dangerous looking, but from her first impression, no more harmful than some of the creatures she dealt with at the Ministry. This had the potential to be an interesting year, but Minerva wasn't going to hold her breath. If he behaved the way he did in this first meeting, Dumbledore really wouldn't have too much to worry about.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Huzzzah! I was so happy to see that a few people commented about being excited for the prospects of this story. After I wrote the prologue, I realized how much I ADORE this ship, and was motivated to start working on the next chapter right away. I'm also endlessly excited to put Voldemort with first years. It's just an image that makes me happy in my head. Stay tuned for more soon!**

**Also, the chapter titles are lyrics from Duffy's song, 'Warwick Avenue', which inspired a lot of the feelings I have for Minerva and Tom. Creditttt given. **


	3. Meet me by the entrance of the tube

When Minerva thought back to her own Sorting Ceremony, she remembered no nerves at all. Her older brother teased her about it a little, but after a few pointed looks from their mother, assured her that there was nothing to worry about. She sat on the train riddled with anticipation, barely chatting with her new friends in order to keep her focus. Gryffindor was her focus. She was quite sure no other house suited her, except perhaps Ravenclaw. Even at eleven, Minerva proved herself to be a highly intelligent young witch. However, that house was not in the cards for her. As she watched her new peers join each of the four houses, she confidently strolled up and allowed a young (younger, anyhow) professor Dumbledore to place the Sorting Hat on her head. It didn't say much to her, though it made a rather obscure roar in her head before it boisterously announced Minerva McGonagall belonged in the Gryffindor house. She assumed it was making a lion's roar, but it did seem a little silly. Each to their own with the Hat, she guessed. The ceremony was painless, and the feast that followed afterward was delicious. Everything about that night had been perfect for her, but now that she was a professor, she understood that not everyone felt that same level of excitement.

Last year, there were a number of students who were wracked with fear. She didn't speak to many of them, aside from giving them directions about where to line up, but the expressions on their faces weren't hard to miss. She wanted to reassure them that nothing would happen, but this was a learning experience too. If she coddled them the moment they stepped into the castle, that would set the tone for their first year. They would expect their professor to swoop in when times were tough, and Minerva wasn't going to be the one on the staff to set that bar. Naturally, there were certain members of the teaching staff, and those outside it, that were more than happy to act as a shoulder to cry on should the year get tough. For the first years, this consisted mainly of home sickness, while students in their final year ran on stress. Minerva found herself preferential to those in their upper years, only because they had conquered all the little fears that came with the process of schooling, while the eleven year olds were only just getting their feet wet. As brave as these little ones could be, she wasn't about to brush away their tears and invite them in for a cuddle. It wasn't in her personality to do so, and she wasn't going to start just because she saw a few terrified faces.

Last year, Minerva felt as though her leading the Sorting Ceremony was an initiation into the staff team in front of the students. This year, she did it with an ulterior motive in mind. Without Dumbledore's full trust, Minerva questioned Riddle's ability to interact with students. Although she had very little student experience before she started teaching, but Dumbledore had full faith that she would be a natural. In fact, most of the members of the Hogwarts staff were naturals at behaving effectively in front of their pupils. Sure, some had their odd personality quirks that made them a little trying sometimes; Binns refused to believe that time carried on after he died, and taught his lessons as such. Minerva didn't want to place Riddle in a certain category in her head without giving him a little bit of a chance, and this was what tonight was going to be.

Now, this wouldn't be the first time she had seen him since their initial meeting. The staff had about a week after Minerva arrived to get everything in the castle ready, and as per tradition, usually ate their evening meals together in the Great Hall. Occasionally it was in the staff room, if a few members were gone for a couple of days and their numbers were fewer. The very first night, Minerva fully expected the somewhat irritable Tom Riddle to remain in his office, or eat down in the kitchens. However, the very first night he joined them in the Great Hall. He sat at the end, next to Slughorn, his eyes cast down, and barely spoke with any of the staff. Not that Minerva was overly talkative during meal times, but she had missed everyone during the summer, and it was a great chance to catch up. He might have been a shy man, or an arrogant snob who thought he was above the rest of them. For now, they would just have to see which persona presented itself.

They stood side by side at the top of the staircase directly across from the doors to the Great Hall. The train arrived nearly a full hour ago, precisely on the hour, and the majority of the upper year students were already seated inside. She and Riddle manned the doors for their entrance, a small smile on her face as returning students greeted her. They cast Riddle some apprehensive looks, along with the occasional nod, but he kept his face impassive. She couldn't fault him for that, mind you. Some people weren't bubbly, and not everyone could be Pomona Sprout with the students. Once they were all inside, the pair shut the giant double doors magically, and all sound was suddenly cut off, leaving them alone in the silent hallway.

Tonight, she really looked like the professor she wanted to be. As soon as the semester started, her lengthy dark auburn hair was up in a tight bun, occasionally a ponytail, and it wouldn't come down until the Christmas holiday. She might have been a young professor, but she certainly wasn't about to dress like one. Along with the bun came her usual hat, a wide-brimmed witch's hat, black, with a peacock feather on top. The feather was only for special occasions, and some of the colours in it matched wonderfully with her dark green and black robes. Giant sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a full skirt; it was quite the typical outfit for Minerva, but the feather, in her opinion, made it a little special. Riddle also appeared to have dressed up for the ceremony, but only slightly. He had a pair of black slacks on, accompanied by a white shirt and a dark green vest with the Slytherin coat of arms on it. When she commented earlier in the night, he explained it was in the family crest, and he saw no reason why he couldn't wear it. However, he made up for it by covering the majority of his outfit with a black cloak, also with monstrous sleeves.

They were all the rage in the wizarding world, those giant sleeves, and Minerva wondered if they played too much into the Muggle vision of witches and wizards. However, fashion trends were just that; trends. Next year, it would be something different. She glanced down at her slim wristwatch, and then peered down the staircase, leaning ever so slightly to her left to see if the doors had opened yet. The first years took the boats to the castle, and used a different entrance than the rest of their peers. It always took a little longer to get everyone sorted, and they made them wait deliberately to give everyone else time to settle in.

"Now," Minerva started, although she almost didn't feel the need to ask, "would you like to call the names, or place the Hat on their heads?"

He stared blankly down the staircase, and only after a moment shot her a look with those yellowing eyes, an easily readable expression in them. Minerva, however, wasn't one to put up with a snarky attitude, especially from her colleagues, and raised her eyebrows challengingly. With a sigh, he seemed to relax a little, speaking for the first time in nearly an hour, "I'll leave the name calling to you."

"Very well," she remarked, retuning her gaze down the stairwell, "but you'll need to look a little less menacing when they approach you. You look like you'd rather light someone on fire than put a hat on their head."

"I wasn't aware that was an option," he said pleasantly, making her frown. It took her a second or so to realize that might just be his sense of humour, but she said nothing in regards to it.

"I'm not asking you to be all smiles," Minerva added after a pregnant pause. "Merlin knows that's a feat I certainly cannot pull off… but you need to remember they're only eleven. Some freedoms are given tonight."

But only for tonight. They may have been eleven, but once her lessons started, they better not act their age, or they would face the consequences quickly.

"I am more than aware of what is necessary for this duty," Tom remarked, sounding somewhat insulted that she was lecturing him. "I have no intentions of hexing any of them, I can promise you that."

"Well… We'll see once they arrive," she mused as she spotted the lights of the first year boats through a nearby window. "They are rather rambunctious when they first get into the castle."

"Something I'm sure you won't let them get away with."

"No," she commented, holding her head high, "I won't."

There was nothing wrong with his comment, per say, but it made Minerva a little on edge. This entire time, she assumed that she was the one watching Tom Riddle. She wanted to learn his mannerisms, his habits… everything. However, it did not occur to her for one second that he might be doing the same thing. Not that one needed much insight to figure out Minerva had a low tolerance for loud silliness, but she decided from now on she would watch her actions around him. It was something she should have done from the start, but it took a few days to really gauge his perceptiveness.

The pair could hear their new arrivals before they were through the doors. Minerva braced herself for the onslaught of students. A quick glance at her companion made her smirk; he looked so unhappy. However, if he wanted to teach, he needed to do everything that encompassed being a professor, not just lectures in a classroom. She was quite sure there would be much more this year that would displease him.

The noise from the docks grew louder, and Minerva clasped her hands together neatly in front of her, face calm, eyes fixated on the door. Suddenly, it flew open, bold as brass, and in marched the first group of her new pupils. They all seemed so little, especially after watching the older teens settle in for nearly an hour. Similar to last year, none of them really noticed she was standing there until they were halfway up the staircase, but once they saw her, they settled right down. Well, the ones at the front did, anyway. The ones at the back were still too far away to realize two professors were watching them with four keen eyes.

"Your attention, please," Minerva instructed, raising her voice enough to carry over the sea of eleven years olds. "Form an orderly line in front of me, two at a time, and we will begin."

She watched as they bustled about in front of her, some a little hesitant to leave their group of friends and stand beside a stranger. Tom casually marched down the staircase beside them, saying nothing, but a look managed to get a few of the noisier ones in place faster than her glares did. So he was going to be one of those professors; the ones who could silence a room with a mere look, or a change in voice intonation. They were, in her opinion, always the most interesting. When the chatter settled, Tom joined her at the top of the staircase, still silent, acting only as a presence of control. For a moment, she actually felt like he made this whole process a little easier. Last year, it took much longer to settle the students down.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she started when the final students at the back quieted down. "I am Professor McGonagall, and this is Professor Riddle."

She motioned to Tom, who merely raised his eyebrow slightly in acknowledgement to all the eyes on him. A few looked very nervous.

"We will be two professors you will deal with until your fifth year, so I suggest you gets used to our faces," Minerva explained, running on the assumption that Riddle wasn't a complete screw-up who would be gone within the month. "For now, we will be leading you into the Sorting Ceremony. I can assure you now that you have nothing to worry about-"

The woman had only a few more words for her speech, but she was interrupted by the sound of a sneeze. The little blond girl who stood directly in front of Tom sneezed noisily all of a sudden, right onto the front of his robes. For half a second, she was frozen, torn between the urge to laugh at the flash of rage on his face, and the urge to carry on as though nothing had happened. Everything was deathly quiet, and the girl looked absolutely terrified as Riddle slowly looked down to examine whatever mess may be waiting on the front of his cloak. At that point, for the girl's sanity if anything, Minerva decided it was best to just continue as though nothing had happened.

"The ceremony itself is painless," she finished curtly. "Best of luck to all of you. Your future houses are very excited to receive you."

When she looked back at Riddle, he still seemed utterly enraged that the girl dared sneeze on him, but a light touch on the arm as she turned back toward the hall seemed to snap him out of it. He fell into pace beside her, a stony expression on his face. It was a feeling Minerva could actually understand; she wouldn't have been very happy if someone sneezed on her. In fact, she probably would have reacted with a similar expression at first, though perhaps more disgusted than enraged. She planned to inform Dumbledore of the reaction, and insist that they watch his temper as the year commences. Students were very trying, even at the best of times, but one couldn't lose their patience with them at the drop of a hat. Mistakes could be corrected, and perhaps punished appropriately, but one needed to learn boundaries. Minerva learned a lot over her first year of teaching, but a lot of that wisdom came from her experiences in school as a pupil; she had always been very observant.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open dramatically just as she noticed Tom haphazardly dusting off the front of his robes, and all eyes in the hall turned toward them. The chattering quieted almost instantly, and Minerva grinned a little as they led the new students down the center of the long tables. She could see the Sorting Hat atop its designated chair directly in front of her. A quick look over her shoulder for only a moment made her grin grow as the new students pointed at the enchanted ceiling, no doubt fascinated with the way the night sky appeared above them.

As she drew closer to the front of the room, she made quick eye contact with Albus. The headmaster was seated in his usual chair in the middle of the staff table, and although he wore his usual relaxed expression, something was a little off with it. She quirked an eyebrow only a touch, but refused to let her suspicions of his moods throw her off. As she stepped up two little stairs, ones that separated the ground floor with the staff area, she held up a hand to stop the new students from following her.

"Wait here, if you will," she ordered pointedly, making a few that had gone too far step back hastily. "Now, when I call you name, please come forward. Professor Riddle will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will sort you into your house."

She turned back and accepted the scroll from Tom, which had been resting under the famed Sorting Hat, and then quickly unrolled it. There was quite a long list this year, and she wondered if Hogwarts was starting to invite more students, or parents felt it was time for more youngsters to receive a formal education. All magical children born in the United Kingdom would get a letter in the mail when the time was right, but many parents thought it better to homeschool their children, a distinct lack of faith in the magical school system. Funny, but it apparently some couldn't understand how important it was to get formal, necessary training to become a functional adult witch or wizard. Some things in this world were just ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, she called the first name, completely unconcerned if she butchered it. Her Scottish accent was enough to mangle some of them on occasion, but no one had ever complained. A curly-haired boy stepped up, his face exceptionally white, and hesitantly took a seat on the stool. Tom stared down at him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he ought to put the hat on his head, and then finally did so. It took less than thirty seconds for the Hat to decide that this boy belonged in Hufflepuff, and she smiled kindly as the table erupted with cheers. Tom seemed unimpressed, if anything, and a bored expression passed across his face as she called for the next person.

The ceremony lasted a full ten minutes, mostly because of the sheer number of students they needed to get through, and the rowdy cheers each student got from their new house grew longer as time passed. During the entire ritual, the only time Tom seemed remotely interested was when a student was sorted into the Slytherin house. She stared in his direction with the pretence of watching her new student, all the while keeping a steady eye on him. When students had the Slytherin title associated with them, his eyes followed their retreating figure back to the table, and for a split second, he seemed proud. It was difficult to tell, as she didn't know him well enough in the slightest to read his emotions, but if she could guess his demeanour, it would have been pride for his old house. Another thing she would need to remind him; professors may be biased in sporting events, but they had to do their utmost to ensure they were fair everywhere else.

When the final student took a seat at the Ravenclaw table, Dumbledore led one final round of applause to welcome the new students. Minerva cast away the Hat and its stool with a flick of her wand, and soon joined the rest of the staff in her seat next to the headmaster. Tom also sauntered back to the large table, but fell into a chair next to Hagrid, who seemed extremely uncomfortable with his presence. Riddle merely smirked, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he fiddled with pieces of silverware.

"He should have led the ceremony," Dumbledore whispered, making her flinch out of her sleuthing, "but we will discuss it later."

Minerva blinked, and for a moment her serene expression faltered. Had he just scolded her? As far as she was concerned, she had done nothing wrong. Although Riddle did not actively lead the ceremony, she managed to obtain a few very insightful glimpses into his persona, and the way he handled himself around students. From where she sat, Minerva had done exactly as Dumbledore asked. He, however, seemed to think differently.

Dumbledore rose from his seat, arms wide, and spoke loud enough to begin his first speech of the term. She had every intention of listening clearly, but she lost focus for a moment. It felt as if someone was watching her. Naturally, there were hundreds of pairs of eyes in the hall, but when she glanced down the table, she noticed Tom gazing in her direction from behind Slughorn's back. When their eyes met, he looked away slowly, his expression neither menacing nor interested… Just neutral.

He was a curious fellow, this Tom Riddle. Minerva shifted uncomfortably, released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, and turned her attention back to Dumbledore where it rightfully belonged.


	4. We can talk things over a little time

The first day of classes was her favourite after that train ride to Hogwarts. Minerva was always the first in her dormitory to rise, first into her uniform, and the first to breakfast, inhaling her food so that she could be the first to her classes. It was a little bit keen of her, and naturally that enthusiasm did subside as the year went on, but she never forgot the feeling of her first day back to lessons and learning. The first day of teaching had a similar vibe to it; Minerva awoke on her own nearly a full hour before she was supposed to, and found herself showered and dressed less than twenty minutes later. She spent some time doing her hair, putting it up in a bun, and then taking it down to redo it, only to find that it looked the same every time. She wasn't a particularly vain woman, but she needed something to do to pass the time before the Great Hall opened for breakfast. She was the first one in there, but only for a couple of minutes. Soon after, her fellow staff members sauntered in, some staying while others grabbed food to eat on their way to their classroom. The hall soon filled with students as well, and she enjoyed her eggs on toast to the sound of teenage chatter for a good hour or so.

Dumbledore was absent from breakfast, but he usually strolled in sometime closer toward the end. It wasn't quite as busy then, and she noticed he liked to stop and chat with people who were scrambling to get through their meal before their first period class. Sometimes he did it to subtly chastise them for not planning their time better, but other times she noticed that he did it because he genuinely wanted to talk to them. Since last night, she hadn't had the opportunity to discuss anything with him. After all, he was a busy man, and the previous day was certainly one of the most stressful days of the year in regards to ensuring the castle was ready for the students. However, she was quite bent on dragging him aside at some point today to inquire about his ire for her leadership in the Sorting Ceremony. She wasn't under the impression he was angry with her, but he seemed… disappointed. As if she hadn't listened to him about her assignment. Well, that was quite the contrary. Minerva listened very carefully to Albus, as she always did, and found that this assignment preoccupied whatever thoughts weren't dedicated to classes and teaching.

For now, Tom Riddle didn't seem to be anything special. He was a quiet man that seemed to be brooding most of the time, aside from the odd humorous comment that Minerva almost missed most of the time. From all the times she had been around him with the rest of the staff, incidents she could count on one hand if she wanted to, Minerva noticed he either stood by Slughorn – which made sense, as the older man was his former head of house, and they no doubt had a connection – or beside Hagrid. Now, Hagrid seemed exceptionally uncomfortable with Riddle's presence, and if Rubeus Hagrid didn't appreciate someone's company, that person was someone to keep a very close eye on. Otherwise, she had yet to see something too concerning. His temper with the poor girl who sneezed on him might be something to watch, but the more she thought about it, the more she sympathized; what eleven year old didn't know to cover their face when they sneezed? It was good manners, and Minerva would have been very upset if some girl had sneezed on her in the middle of a public speech.

Regardless, Minerva decided that today was the day to start getting some more feedback on the man. She had a gaggle of second year students for her first period, but Dumbledore arranged for her to monitor Riddle for her free period after. It might have been a bit too obvious, as Minerva seemed to be the only one, aside from Slughorn, who made any effort with him, but she trusted that Dumbledore knew what he was doing. Apparently, it was a part of the deal they struck when Tom took the job; someone was to monitor his classes on and off for the first month to ensure he stuck to the criteria. That was a fairly daunting task for any new teacher. Minerva was completely unsure about what would happen in her first year of the profession. After all, you can only plan so much; sometimes things just don't fit in with the schedule. However, she figured Dumbledore planned to send her there to watch what Riddle taught, not how he taught it.

Her first period was one she had been looking forward to for a while. These were the first students she taught last year as well, and as they all settled into their seats, she couldn't help but smile a little at how they had changed over the summer. Most looked a smidgen older, but not enough to be unrecognizable. Now, her fifth years, maybe even the fourth years, were probably going to have a few more changes with a few months away from the castle, but she was eager to see everyone. After living with them for the past year – and Hogwarts wasn't large enough that she didn't know nearly everyone's name – she found that her students earned a soft spot in her heart. However, that did not exempt them from verbal chastisement, or irritated glares when they goofed off in class.

Unfortunately, she already had to put on the stern face in her _first_ class of the year. Eileen Davies seemed more interested in catching up with Doyle Finnigan, which earned them a prompt talking to mid-lecture, and a few points deducted for not paying attention. It may have been the introductory lecture, one that she used to fill her pupils in on the expectations for the year, but she wasn't up there talking for herself to hear. If she was taking the time to speak, they should have the decency to listen. The two glumly kept their mouths shut for the rest of the lecture, one that she finished precisely five minutes before the period ended in order to allow for some questions. When there were none, she gave them leave a few moments early, and watched as her former first years rushed out of the classroom. Some were on their way to other classes on a different floor in the castle, while others were just eager to get out of her lecture hall. Regardless, she was pleased to see them leave. For now, she needed to prep herself for her first lesson with Riddle.

She sat down at her desk and pulled a file out from under a pile of papers. Dumbledore had given it to her last week, and it had the rough rubric for what needed to be taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for each year. Naturally, he couldn't expect her to memorize everything in there, but she would use it when she monitored Tom's classes. If he was following a linear pattern with his teachings, as she had a strong suspicion he might, all she needed to do was start at the beginning and make sure he stuck to a general outline of what was recommended. Closing the file, she grasped her hat and stuck it firmly atop her head, and then rose, the file tucked neatly under her arm. Her face was neutral as she departed from her classroom, though she did smile occasionally when a student greeted her in the hallways, and was stopped twice to direct a group of first years where they might find their appropriate classrooms. That set her slightly behind schedule, but she moved quickly enough to Tom's classroom that she found she still had a few minutes to spare.

When she arrived, she noticed that all of his third year students were waiting outside the classroom, some leaning on the wall, others seated against it. She arched an eyebrow.

"Mr. Prewett," she barked at a redheaded Gryffindor. "Why are you all just sitting in the corridor?"

"Well, the door's locked," the boy replied, seeming as dissatisfied with his answer as she was. Shaking her head a little, she strolled through the crowd and craned her head to look into the window. It was a little dirty, the glass, but she could see Riddle seated as his desk, feet up, wand twirling between his fingers. He seemed bored, or unaware of the time. Perhaps he was lost in thought. Regardless of his reasons for keeping his students in the hallway, they all irked her. It was _always_ better to get the pupils into the classroom so they didn't block up the hallway and start causing trouble. Retrieving her wand from its holster in her sleeve, she pointed it at the doorknob.

"Alohomora," she snapped, causing the lock to spring open. Although she felt like letting all the students swarm the room, she figured it would be best if she approached Riddle first. Maybe he was shy about his first lesson? Who knows? So, she slipped inside, holding the students back with a finger, and shut the door quietly behind her. His eyes flickered over to her lazily, and he slowly removed his feet from his desk.

"You are aware you have a hallway full of third years waiting for you?" Minerva demanded, holding the file in front of her chest, her wand in her other hand, "I hope you didn't forget you had a lesson this period."

He stared at her, his lip curling upward only slightly, and then cocked his head to the side, "Do you feel the need to take the tone even with your colleagues? I assumed it remained in the classroom…"

Her eyebrows shot up, and she shifted her weight evenly between both her legs as something of a defensive stance. However, before she could retort anything, he sighed, "I am aware I have a lesson… but that lesson doesn't start for another two minutes. They can wait."

"They cause trouble when they are left in the halls in such big numbers," she remarked frankly, her irritation with his easing only slightly. "Next time, I would suggest letting them in a little sooner."

"A suggestion I'll keep under advisement," Tom insisted, the corners of his lips quirking into a bit of a smirk. She nearly huffed, but Minerva could usually maintain her temper, no matter the situation. After all, that had to be one of the reasons Albus put her in charge of Riddle; others might give up with his odd behaviour, but Minerva would see this through to the very end.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here?" she asked, tapping the file with her finger. He glanced down at it briefly, and then met her gaze again.

"Quite frankly, I don't."

"Well, Dumbledore told me that in your contract, it stipulated that a professor will monitor-"

"In theory I understand why you are here," Tom stated, cutting her off before she got too far into her speech, "but I don't understand why _you_ are here, Minerva."

"I beg your pardon?"

He rose from his desk, and then set his wand down, "I understand my contract, but I don't see why _you_ were sent. I expected a professor in their senior years at Hogwarts. Someone with a little more professional experience than one whole year behind the desk…"

She pursed her lips, and then took a deep breath, "If you are unhappy with Dumbledore's choice, then I suggest you take that up with him. However, seeing as we only have…" She glanced at the clock, "Thirty seconds until you are supposed to start you lesson, I think that will have to wait."

The man strolled around his desk, eyes locked with hers defiantly, and then paused once he was directly in front of her. She assumed he used the closeness to intimidate her, or invade her personal space enough to force her to back down, but Minerva McGonagall would do no such thing. He laughed quietly, so inaudible that she almost missed it, and then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, "I don't have a problem with you monitoring my classes… You are unexpected, though only a little. I've given you a seat at the back for you to write your little notes."

He motioned to a spot behind her, and she reluctantly turned away, spotting the dark chair in the back corner of the classroom, near the stairwell that led up to his office. When she looked back at him, he had already stepped around her and was walking toward the door, presumably to let his students in.

"Have a seat, Minerva," he offered, pausing when he reached the door. "Perhaps you'll learn something today."

Arrogance! That was his problem! Minerva stalked to the back of the room as students began to file in, fuming in her head. He wasn't a shy man in the slightest… It seemed he just wanted his pupils to take up the required amount of his time, and nothing more. She opened up the file to a blank sheet of paper and scribbled in just that furiously, her facial features carefully schooled to show nothing of her inner discontentment. As she settled into her seat, she watched as the third years nervously did the same. They were obviously unsure about how to handle Riddle, as the man hadn't said anything since he opened the door. Instead, he returned to the front of the classroom, hands behind his back, and simply watched in silence as they all filed in. He suddenly looked sharply at the clock, which Minerva noted was a minute passed the hour, and flicked his wand at the door. It violently slammed shut, silencing the room in an instant.

"I will never let you in until the exact hour we start," Riddle began, his voice quiet enough so that Minerva had to strain a little to hear. It was a tactic to make everyone pay attention, and it seemed to be working. "However, when I do, you have a minute to get into the room, or you're late, and will receive a detention. I hope that is clear, because I won't repeat myself."

There were a few nods, and Minerva brought her quill to her lips, chewing it absently as she watched him stroll among the aisles between desks, hands still behind his back, "My name is Professor Riddle, as you heard in the opening ceremony. You will refer to me as 'sir', unless it is a dire emergency. Otherwise, you will not be acknowledged."

He paused at the end of the row, walked around the student slowly who dared sit at the back, and then continued his slow march up toward the front, "This year, I will teach you about the dark arts."

Minerva shifted, knowing full well that was not necessarily what the class entailed, but he carried on, "It is prescribed by the Ministry that I teach you defensive magic. I find it… useful, but somewhat unnecessary. The dark arts, while dangerous, are something to be mastered, controlled… not shooed away by wand-waving and foolishness."

The man stopped directly in front of a smaller boy at the front, and cocked his head to the side, "How is your father, Nott?"

"Good, sir," the boy squeaked. Satisfied, Tom carried on, as though the minor distraction never happened.

"I do believe," he continued, "that to be a good fighter, to be on the offensive, you do need to learn the defensive. It is… a necessary evil in your youth that you must learn, and I will teach it to you. You will need to reference your textbook heavily, as I think there is no greater gift to wizards than the written word of knowledge from the masters before us. I will give you a lot to read, and our lessons together will be a time to put that knowledge to practical use. If you have not done the reading, whether out of stupidity or laziness, I will pick it up right away, and you will be dealt with accordingly."

Minerva underlined the last few words she scribbled in, something about punishment tactics and their potential with him, and then cocked her head to the side, her attention wholly on the lecturer in front of her.

"As required by the Ministry provided syllabus," Riddle sneered, rolling his eyes slightly at the notion, "I am supposed to give an introductory lecture. I've drafted an outline of the year's topics, and you can find it at the back of the room on your way out. For now, know that each lesson will only be taught once. We will cover everything from boggarts to thestrals, defensive _and_ offensive spells, and the spectrum of legality in magical usage. For now, you should read the first chapter of your textbook for next time… There may or may not be a quiz, on paper or out loud, I haven't decided. Whatever I feel like on the day, I suppose."

Minerva couldn't help but smirk a little at the uncomfortable shifting she noticed amongst the students. He was certainly going to keep them on their toes, that was for sure, and with that style of teaching, most were too scared not to do the homework assignments.

"Aside from that, I have no news about the class to give you," he informed them, glancing over at the clock. A grand total of ten minutes had passed since he started speaking, and Minerva arched an eyebrow at the finality of his tone. "However, I do have an announcement regarding the new club I'll be starting, hopefully next week. Hogwarts hasn't had a duelling club for a long time, and I will be starting one for all years. In it, you will learn invaluable tips and tricks to become a better dueller. I might even give you some information you cannot learn in a classroom…"

There were quite a number of students leaning forward eagerly at the notion, and Minerva wondered what exactly he planned on divulging in these little sessions. In fact, she wasn't exactly sure that the duelling club would be brought back. From what she heard from Albus over the years, Dippet removed the program because it caused too many problems between the houses, and led to a few serious injuries. Surely, Albus wouldn't have approved this? She frowned, and hastily wrote a small note in the corner of her paper to remind herself to bring this up immediately. As she wrote, Riddle suddenly dismissed the class. Minerva looked up quickly, eyes widening a little in shock. The man had returned to his desk and sat down, evidently writing something of his own, and seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was still a room full of students in front of him. She slowly closed her folder and let it rest on her lap. Finally, a Slytherin girl at the front rose with two of her friends, and the rest of the class followed suit.

Apparently, he had finished for this period after a mere eleven minutes. After the last student had filed out, Minerva rose from her seat slowly, tucked the file under her arm, and also turned to leave.

"So do I get a stamp of approval for the day?" Tom inquired just before she reached the doorknob. She had every intention of leaving without another word, but his somewhat biting comment made her pause.

"That was a brisk lecture, at best," Minerva informed him, finally turning to face the man. "Regardless, you did not overstep your boundaries. You have complied with the requirements for today's lecture as per the syllabus. You performed the bare minimum, but nothing that would get you into trouble."

"So astute, Minerva," the man laughed. With that, her lips thinned into a near-perfect straight line, and she departed from the classroom, slamming the door shut behind her. He was arrogant and frustrating, but in her unbiased opinion, he hadn't done anything that would upset any authorities.

However, she still thought it prudent to speak with Albus right away. After asking a number of portraits where the headmaster might be, she was finally told by the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw that she could find him in the courtyard with a group of seventh years. After thanking the ghost curtly, she departed down the flight of stairs and out into the large courtyard at the centre of the castle's grounds, squinting a little as she transitioned from the dark hallways into the cloudy, yet bright, outdoors. Just as the ghost predicted, she spotted Dumbledore seated on a bench as a few Ravenclaw students demonstrated their ability to conjure a flock of lovely yellow canaries. It was a spell required for their end of year exams, and she wasn't surprised that this particular group already had it mastered.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore beamed, clapping lightly as the little birds sat on his shoulders, chirping under the spells of their owners, "Just wonderful. Pekins, if you adjust your grip on your wand, you will find your birds won't come out so large… If this is on your exam, you will be marked for the quality of your birds too."

"Thank you, headmaster," the girl grinned, examining her hand on her wand. Minerva approached slowly, giving Albus enough time to see her and dutifully shoo off the eager students.

"If you'll give me a moment with Professor McGonagall…"

Albus smiled kindly, and held out his finger so one of the canaries could hop off his shoulder, and then flutter back to its owner. The students bid both professors farewell, and departed for the castle once more. There were a few groups of pupils scattered around the grassy courtyard, but no one near enough to hear any private conversations. He patted the spot on the bench next to him, and they both stared straight ahead, the file folder sitting neatly on her lap.

"Shouldn't you still be in a lesson with Riddle?" he inquired, "I hope he didn't make you leave."

"No, no," she sighed, rolling her eyes a little, "he finished in under fifteen minutes."

"Did he now?"

"Yes," Minerva groaned, opening the file and retrieving the page with her notes on it, which only just filled the top half. "I barely had anything to write… He gave a very brief outline of what he would be teaching, informed them that they should read or face his wrath… My words, not his, and… Well, he touched slightly on the legal spectrum of magic. It isn't a part of the syllabus, from what I understand-"

"Tom has always enjoyed pushing boundaries," Dumbledore insisted, a slightly more serious tone to his voice. "I suspect he wants to instil that notion into his students as well. We will have to keep a close watch on it… He cannot push his ideas that the law can be manipulated onto eager young minds."

She sat in silence for a moment, her lips pursed, and then finally looked at him, "What did he do before he became a professor here?"

"He was an employee of Borgin and Burkes in Diagon Alley," Dumbledore explained. "From what I understood, he persuaded old, rich witches and wizards to give up their valuable artefacts. It gave him a vast knowledge of the dark magic that is out there… but working in that industry, I have a sinking suspicion he thinks he can curve the law to fit his needs."

"I'd like to see him try," Minerva argued, her days as a lawyer for the Ministry still fresh in her mind. "I'd be more than happy to explain to him what legal and illegal is."

He patted her arm gently, "For now, we will just keep a close eye on him. I want to catch him when he does something wrong, not prevent him from doing it."

"Right."

She frowned; why would he hire a man like this? Clearly there was a lack of trust between them, and if Albus didn't trust someone, she certainly didn't either.

"What did he say when he saw you would be monitoring him?" the man inquired.

"He… He said it was unexpected, but only a little," Minerva recalled. "What do you think that means?"

"Perhaps he has seen a little too much of you lately?" Dumbledore mused, "But I can't trust anyone else to do this… You are my eyes and ears, Minerva."

"I know," she insisted, concerned at the notion that Riddle was onto them. "Oh! And he wants to start a duelling club…"

Dumbledore looked at her sharply, "A duelling club?"

"Yes," she said with a nod. "From what I understand, he wants to teach students to become better duellers… He said he would show them things they cannot learn in the classroom."

"That will certainly peak an interest."

"Has he asked you about this?" she inquired, "It seemed unlikely that you would allow it."

Much to her surprise, he smiled a little, though it was a smile she could not fully understand, and then sighed, "I will allow it, but he cannot run it alone. I will have Slughorn manage it with him. They have a good relationship, from what I understand, and as one of his old mentors, Horace will be able to put his foot down should it get out of hand."

"It seems like you're playing with fire, Dumbledore," she said quietly, "and I mean no disrespect, but I have serious concerns if you feel the need the implement this much security for one man."

"Only time will tell, I'm afraid," Albus decided, and slowly rose to his feet. "Now, would you care to accompany me for a cup of tea? I've yet to hear about your summer…"

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Oh Dumbles. So sneaky, yet legit. I haven't ever really given Dumbledore a chance to appear in my stories, except for a brief moment in 'Wasted Emotion', and I think I'll try my hand at writing him the best I can. He's all new and whatnot for me. I hope you're enjoying! I'm very excited for upcoming chapters... My muse with this story is really on the ball, and totally occupying my thoughts when I let it. **

**Thank you for my reviewers! These are some of the most detailed reviews I've gotten for my stories, and I always look forward to seeing them. **

**To What-Ansketil-Did-Next, and anyone else curious about Tom's predominantely yellow eyes, as opposed to red - I took some liberties here. I wanted to highlight his inner sickness, about his soul decaying, but in a way that wouldn't be so obviously startling to students and Minerva when they first look at him. They will become progressively horrible as the year passes on, mirroring Voldemort's soul, but for now they're more yellow and sickly than red and evil. Seeing as it's an AU fic, I figured I might take a few liberties, while attempting to keep everything else as canon as I can be!**

**Hope you all continue to enjoy! **


	5. Promise me you won't step out of line

Oh, it was certainly a miserable day to do this. September was always iffy with the weather, and it seemed the Gryffindor Quidditch team lucked out when it came to their tryouts this year. It was the first Sunday of the year, and her former house had reserved the Quidditch Pitch to hold trials for the upcoming year's team. She remembered the nerves and adrenaline that she faced every year she came back for the event. Even when she was a captain, there were always the worries that no one good would show up, or her team wouldn't listen to her as well as the year before did. She was a captain for two years, and in both years the Gryffindor team came second. From what she understood, they were usually third or fourth now. It was almost so pitiful that she felt like she needed to help them out last year, and asked if she could sit in during tryouts. The team's captain, Roger Wood, a relative of another Wood who had been on her team during school, seemed more than happy to have her there. She gave what she considered helpful advice, and worked with the potential Chasers on honing their catching and throwing (the best she could do after not playing for nearly a decade), and in the end, she thought Wood chose a pretty solid team.

In fact, the team managed to come in second that year, after Ravenclaw, beating Slytherin by one match. There was quite a lot of celebrating to be done by her old house, and after helping out occasionally during the year, Roger asked if she would be willing to join on as a coach for the following year. Naturally, she had to check with Albus to make sure it was allowed for a staff member to coach the team. He decided that as long as she wasn't Head of Gryffindor, he saw no problem with her coaching the team to become better players. So, this year, she brought all of her old Quidditch gear back with her, along with her broom, and decided that she was going to be much more involved this time around. If time permitted, she would be at weekly practices, but offered to work with the chasers. She didn't want to step on anyone's toes, certainly not Wood's, and she didn't want it to seem as though she was taking over the team. He was still their captain; Minerva was just outside help when they wanted it.

For the trials, she decided to dress in her old house colours. She had a pair of light brown Quidditch trousers on, her old boots, and a red jersey that didn't explicitly state she was in Gryffindor, but enough to show the proper colours. After all, she didn't want to look like a complete idiot walking through the corridors in her get-up, but she wanted to demonstrate that she meant business. Just for a little while, she figured there was nothing wrong in letting her hair down and enjoying the thrill of being on a broom again, even if the weather was miserable.

It had rained for most of that Sunday morning, but by four o'clock, the clouds were drained, and they were left with a grey, gloomy sky for the remainder of the afternoon. With trials at five-thirty, Minerva was sure to get all her marking from the first week out of the way before she made her way down to the pitch. So far, the first week had been similar to last year, which was expected. The new group of first years were a little dim, save for a few souls, but she was sure she could rouse them into accessing the intelligent parts of their brains sometime soon… Hopefully. Otherwise, she fell right back into her usual rhythm with the remainder of her classes, eager to help them all progress into their next year.

She had only gone back to monitor Riddle's classes twice now, and each time he followed a lesson similar to what she had seen in the introductory segment. They were short, punctuated, but full of information straight from the textbook. The last class she watched, Friday's lesson, was one in which he taught protective shield spells to his seventh years, and only really gave much attention to the students who expressed a talent for it immediately. She would have scolded him on it, but two students fighting in the hallway forced both professors to intervene before she could speak with him. When the situation was neutralized, he disappeared, and she hadn't seen much of him for most of the weekend. Dumbledore arranged for her to have night patrols every other night with him on alternating weeks, so next week they were to spend at least three or four nights together. From there, she was bound to get more of an assessment into his psyche by spending alone time with him. Nothing about that really bothered her. If she was being honest, she had worked with more irritating people in the Ministry, although she hadn't expected to run into it at Hogwarts. For now, she needed to thicken her skin and move on. He was a complete arse sometimes, and that was that.

For now, she didn't need to think about Tom Riddle or following him around. For now, she had her mind set to Quidditch. She met Roger a half an hour early at the pitch, and they discussed all the potential candidates for the position. As always, Minerva tried to be objective, considering a lot of them were hopeless in her lessons, and it was hard not to have a bit of a bias toward them. However, she listed the players she thought deserved to be welcomed back this year after the last, so long as they performed well during the trials, and recommended some that ought to keep their substitute position. She liked Wood. He was a smart boy, good in her classes, and genuinely wanted to do nothing more than play Quidditch. There was talent there, no doubt, and she thought about asking Albus to bring some scouts to the games. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Roger Wood might be picked up for a professional team if someone came by the watch him play. It was unfortunate that he was in his last year; hopefully somebody else would step up and prove they were captain material. From what she saw last year, no one quite fit the bill.

The candidates started to trickle in about ten minutes before the trials started, and after a brief explanation about what Roger was looking for, they were divided up and thrown into a match right away. Minerva joined Wood in the air to watch, keeping her eyes peeled for standout chasers, while he was keen on finding the next best seeker after they lost theirs last year. They still had solid beaters, and Minerva was pretty sure they would return for a second round, while there might be a need for a few more substitutes with the amount of damage the lads sustained during the games. Now, these trial games turned into quite a competitive, violent match, ending with two bloody noses and a black eye from an elbow to the face. She was quite sure everyone expected her to step in and stop the madness, but Minerva watched passively from the side. Out here, she couldn't establish herself as a professor. Unless something horrible went on, and she truly needed to step in, Minerva wanted to be seen as a helper and fellow Quidditch enthusiast, not the Transfigurations professor.

However, if any of them thought they would be getting special treatment because she was chummy with them on the pitch certainly had another thing coming. At the end of the matches, Wood thanked them, and told everyone the list would be up in the common room tomorrow. Afterward, the pair spent a good half an hour sitting in the bleachers discussing what they had seen. Minerva gave her recommendations, and as a low rumble started in the distance, switched into her stern voice and ordered Wood get inside and out of the cold. They both locked their brooms away in the cupboards by the pitch, and just as they were about to enter the castle on the east corner, they were drenched by a sudden downpour of rain. She ordered Wood straight to his dormitory to get dried off, and at that moment realized she had left her wand in her office that morning, figuring it would be a little unnecessary.

Cursing her own stupidity, she realized that a wand was _never_ unnecessary, and decided she could pop into the deserted bathroom on the first floor to dry off a little. The corridors were relatively empty, as they tended to be on Sundays, and at that moment she wished she was back in her own private quarters, curled up in bed with a good book and her cat, able to listen to the rain pound on the windows from a safe place. As she stalked down the hallway, a bright piece of paper on a communal bulletin board caught her attention, making her pause. On further inspection, she saw it was one of many sign-up sheets for Tom's duelling club, which would have its first meeting next Friday night. The sheet's lines for names were completely full, and some students had even written along the sides. Apparently, word had spread that he planned on teaching tips they wouldn't learn in class, and just as Dumbledore assumed, it got a lot of attention. Shaking her head, her eyes scanned the list, and frowned when she saw some first years had signed up. He couldn't allow that, could he? At this point, most of them barely knew how to write a coherent sentence, let alone duel!

As she continued to read the names, she remained completely oblivious to the whizzing sound in the air, and was suddenly smacked directly in the back of the head by something solid. She released a started cry, and turned around quickly, spotting Peeves, the resident poltergeist, hovering a few feet in the air. The ghost roared with laughter, and she reached up to touch the back of her head, only to panic momentarily when it was wetter than before. When she brought her hand back, she saw it was covered in dark ink, and glared at the ghost.

"How dare you assault a professor?" Minerva snarled, curbing his laughter momentarily. He squinted a little at her, and then made a great deal of trying to compose himself.

"Oh, little Minnie, didn't recognize you in your Quidditch uniform!" he bawled obnoxiously, slapping his knee with glee, composure short-lived and forgotten.

"That's _Professor McGonagall_ to you, Peeves," she hissed dangerously. "Don't make me call the Baron to remind you to respect Hogwarts staff!"

He stuck his tongue out at her, "Weren't any fun as a wee student, and still no fun now! BOO!"

And with that, he dove through the bulletin board shrieking, which forced her to duck out of the way to avoid being hit. Irritated, dripping wet, and now covered in ink, Minerva stormed down the hallway and turned a very sharp corner into the girls' lavatory. As she did, she barrelled into a solid figure a little taller than her, causing them both to stumble a little, Minerva only just losing her balance. When she looked up, she spotted Tom clutching her forearm, no doubt to keep her from falling over. The moment their eyes met, they both retracted whatever limbs were touching and hastily stepped back. He gave her a once over, looking a little stunned at her appearance, as she looked equally stunned to be marching straight into him on his way out of the female bathrooms. After a few seconds of silence, she shook her head.

"Why are you in the girls' toilets?"

"Why do you look like a student?" he countered, still a little thrown off, "And… covered in ink?"

She pursed her lips and then sidestepped him to go further into the bathroom toward the round column of antique sinks, "I was helping the Gryffindor team with their selection for this year, and we just got caught in the rain… and then Peeves threw ink bombs at me on my way in."

After turning on the water in one of the sinks, she looked at him in the mirror, and noticed he was watching her with his arms folded across his chest, a somewhat amused expression on his face.

"You have a wand, you know?" Tom mused as her gaze hardened at him, "I assure you you're no longer an underage witch, despite the implication of that horrible sweater."

"I… I left it in my office," she admitted through gritted teeth, and then pulled her lengthy hair out of the ponytail to run the ends under the water. May as well try to get some of the ink out before it hardened too much…

"Well, that was silly of you."

"Thank you," she snapped curtly, running her wet hand along her hair to squeeze out some ink. "I hadn't realized until now. How terribly silly of me!"

Although she liked to keep her temper in check, Peeves had a way of getting it to run rampant. She wanted Tom to keep thinking she was this controlled being who was there to monitor him, but after seeing her in a Quidditch sweater, covered in black ink, he probably wouldn't be able to take her as seriously as she wanted for a little while. Well, that balance needed to be restored immediately. She paused in her cleaning, and then straightened up.

"Wait, no, we don't get to pick apart my reasons for looking like a disaster," she said decidedly, whirling back to face him. "Why are you in here?"

"I heard someone crying," he replied without missing a beat. "There were no girls around to investigate for me, and for some reason you were not lurking in my shadows… Quite apparent now why not." Her cheeks tinted slightly. "So I decided to investigate myself."

"Crying?" she repeated, her hands in her hips, "You know this Myrtle's bathroom, and has been since we were in school… There is _always_ crying in here."

In fact, no one ever really used the bathroom because of the dreadful ghost's incessant crying. She seemed to have vanished for now, or was keeping very quiet, as Minerva suddenly noticed how still all the stalls were to her right.

"As unfortunate as her fate was, I did forget about her ghost," Riddle admitted nonchalantly. "She flew into one of the toilets when she saw me. Still painfully shy, it appears."

"Hmm."

If he thought she sounded unconvinced, he was right. No one forgot about Myrtle. This toilet was forever abandoned after her death during her last few years at Hogwarts, and it seemed like a stretch for him to come in to investigate a little girl crying. After all, he spent a great deal of his lessons ignoring all but a certain handful of astute students. Therefore, the thought of him inspecting the potential situation on his own free will seemed trying, at best. However, she turned away from him, trying to think of the best strategy to interrogate him properly.

With the water running, and her head very close to it to continue washing her hair, she couldn't hear or see him stroll up behind her. She only just saw him at the last second and hastily straightened up, at which point he had his wand pressed lazily against the side of her head.

"You really should carry your wand with you wherever you go," he informed her softly, the tip of his wand touching a few locks of wet hair. She straightened her shoulders to appear unfazed, and arched her eyebrow characteristically.

"You really shouldn't lie to me about why you're in here," Minerva fired back, making him grin ever so slightly. For half a moment, she wondered if he was going to hex her. There was certainly nothing friendly in his eyes when he stared at her in the mirror's reflection. However, that worry faded quickly, as he soon murmured a cleansing spell, and removed all traces of ink from her hair. She watched him curiously in the mirror as he looked down at her, perhaps wondering whether or not he should dry her off too, and it felt so strange to be under someone's power, even in such an insignificant way. Minerva certainly didn't like it.

Thankfully, she wasn't kept in the position for long. Without another word, he turned quickly and marched out of the lavatory, leaving her standing alone in front of the mirror. She swallowed thickly, and then ran a hand through her now cleaned hair, confused at the sudden turn of events. The whole incident had happened so quickly that her mind scrambled to figure out how she felt about it. As she stared in the mirror, dumbfounded, something caught her eye.

Muddy footprints.

She hadn't noticed it before, but in the path that Tom walked to and fro from her, he left a faint set of brown footprints behind him. Now, he could have taken one step outside to produce these, but as she examined the floor, she spied another set a few sinks over. This time, however, they were leading directly away from the sink, with no prints leading to it. How were there no prints leading up to it? She carefully compared the two, and decided that they were, in fact, the same shoe that made the markings in both cases. Something was off. She made a full circle around the sinks, pausing at cracks in the mirror to examine them, but in the end chalked that up to poor upkeep in the vacated bathroom. What _was_ he doing in here?

Not only was he arrogant, but Tom Riddle was a liar. Minerva liked to catch liars in their lie, and she had every intention of doing so.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Probably one of the fastest updates I've made in a long, long time. Shows just how much the muse of this story loves me. Lots more to look forward to - patrols, investigations, and the duelling club! Stay tuned!**


	6. Please drop the past and be true

Last year, Minerva loved going on rounds with the prefects. It wasn't that she enjoyed stalking the corridors until around eleven-thirty with a bunch of students, but Minerva was usually partnered with Pomona Sprout for rounds, and the two used it as a chance to chat. They passed idle gossip (despite Minerva's reservations against it), prowled for students out of bed, and chatted with ghosts and portraits until their time was up. In fact, the sheer amount of time the two women spent together over the course of year after hours was what gave them such a solid friendship. They were quite different individuals; Pomona was outgoing, bubbly, and a little too friendly with her students, while Minerva opted for a stricter, more stern appearance in front of the student body. Somehow, they managed to come out of their evenings on friendly terms, and the feelings grew the more time they spent together. In a way, they each balanced the other out. This year, unfortunately, Minerva was paired with Tom and Pomona with Horace Slughorn. She had already expected it coming into the staff room to see the assigned pairings for the year, but she shared Pomona's disappointment all the same.

So far, the only time she had seen Tom was in classes, and occasionally in passing in the hallway. They ate at different times, went to bed at different times, and seemed to use the staff room at different times. All in all, she rarely saw Tom Riddle on a non-professional basis. Perhaps he was purposefully steering clear of her because she caught him in the midst of doing no good in the girls lavatory on the first floor. He didn't seem to treat her differently when she watched two of his lessons on Monday. In fact, he basically ignored her presence all together. He lectured for perhaps ten minutes on the assigned readings, and then sent his pupils off to test some of the spells that they learned about in theory. He gave no real direction on wand handling or pronunciation of the sometimes complex spellwork, but rather stalked around the room watching to see who could get it right away. Those that could would get most of his attention, and the rest floundered until the lesson came to an end. She wondered if Dumbledore spoke with him, because he no longer dismissed them ridiculously early. However, she was still a little upset that so many students, some of them excellent in Transfigurations, struggle to grasp the practical concepts of his lesson.

He had been good though. Nothing outside the proper curriculum appeared in his lessons, and Minerva waited on her toes for him to step out of line. So far, nothing seemed to require more than a good talking to about proper teaching techniques. On Monday evening, she addressed her concerns with Albus again, and he told her to hang on; Tom Riddle would fumble, and she needed to be there to catch it. Although she expressed everything she picked up on from his lessons, Minerva kept their bathroom incident to herself. She was curious to figure it out on her own, and didn't particularly want Dumbledore's help at solving the mystery in question. In time, she was sure she could get Tom to reveal what exactly he found so appealing about that specific bathroom, and why he had muddy prints following him out.

She didn't object to it out loud, but Minerva felt a little frustrated with the whole situation. She wasn't particularly sure why she was watching Tom, aside from Dumbledore's concerns about the man. If, by the end of September, she saw nothing that was worth reporting, she might ask to ease up to focus on her own lessons. It was already a great deal of work to give up her free periods to monitor his classes, therefore losing her precious free time for marking seven classes of assignments… Once they really got into the year, and she had essays and tests and all that other nonsense, she wouldn't have enough time to do both jobs successfully.

For now, Tuesday evening, Minerva was handling both adequately. When her last class finished just after five, she spent the evening catching up on lesson planning, marking, and writing new assignments for her upper year classes. When nine o'clock finally rolled around, she packed up her office, locked it, slipped her wand into the holster in her sleeve, and settled her hat on her head. Throwing her shoulders back, she marched through the torch-lit hallways straight to the entrance of the Great Hall. When she arrived, she spotted her eight prefects for the night already waiting for her. A quick glance at the large clock above the doors signalled that she was just on time. At least the students knew better than to be late, but she saw no Tom in sight. Pursing her lips to express her displeasure, she stood square in front of her prefects, who fell silent upon her arrival.

"Gryffindor and Ravenclaw will take the towers and the sixth and seventh floors," Minerva started, recalling the schedule she and Tom had agreed on – one that she wrote and he nodded to in the thirty seconds they talked after his lesson today. "Hufflepuff is in charge of the third to fifth floors, and Slytherin will monitor the dungeons and the first two floors. Any questions?"

"No, Professor McGonagall," came their replies in unison. She smirked a little; they were all in their sixth year, and had dealt with her brisk style last year.

"Professor Riddle and I will be monitoring the whole castle until we finish at half past eleven," Minerva continued. "If you need anything, please consult the assigned portraits and we will get there as soon as possible. Remember the rules from last year. Detentions can be given if you both agree on it, and points can _only_ be deducted from members of your own house. I expect the rules to be followed, or I will consider removing you from your position. You have been warned."

"Yes, Professor."

"All right," she sighed. "Off you go then."

The pairs dispersed in different directions, and she stood in front of the Great Hall's doorway with her hands on her hips. Where was Tom? He knew exactly what time he needed to there, and yet he was running late. Or perhaps he didn't plan to show up at all? She glared up at the clock again, and debated whether or not she should start their route without him. However, her debate was cut short when she heard the soft echo of shoes in the corridor to her left. She didn't need to see who it was to guess who it might be. Dinner was closed, and most students would either be in the library or in their common rooms until curfew at ten. With her hands still planted on her hips, she turned around to face Tom directly as he strolled along the darkened hallway, his hands in his pockets.

"You always look so sour when we see each other," he greeted, a hint of a smile on his lips. "What have I done now?"

"You were supposed to be here on the hour to give the prefect's briefing with me," she said coldly when he stopped in front of her. "We discussed this… You knew the time. I can't always do everything by myself, Riddle."

"Now, now," he sighed, rolling his eyes a little. "I think you forget that I was a prefect for three years. I know the speeches inside and out, and I also know the castle backwards and forwards. I know what they do with their time when they pretend to be on patrol, and I can already guess who the keeners are for the night."

She stared at him for a moment, and then suggested Ravenclaw.

"Precisely," Tom carried on, shrugging his shoulders. "They always are… and with the two students we've got for the night, I'm sure we'll hear from them at least once before curfew."

"I suppose, but-"

"If you're that upset over it, I'll make sure I'm there next time," Tom droned, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt. "I'll even say everything if it really matters to you."

"It doesn't matter that much," Minerva snapped, knowing full well that he was patronizing her, "but I'd like to think you have enough respect for the position to bother to show up on time, at least for the first night."

"Do guilt trips usually work on the others?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Minerva glared at him, and then turned on her heel in the opposite direction. She heard him hurrying after her, "Come now, Minerva, why so sullen tonight?"

"Why are you in such an uncharacteristically good mood?" she retorted, looking at him with what she hoped was a penetrating gaze, something Dumbledore seemed to master years ago. The man shrugged, a smirk on his thin lips.

"Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?" Tom inquired, "Perhaps I've just had a good day?"

"As I recall, you did embarrass an unusually high amount of second years in your practical tasks today," Minerva stated sarcastically. "I suppose that did it."

"Come off it, they completely deserved it," he grumbled, pausing to look into an empty classroom, wand illuminating the corners. Once satisfied, he continued, "I mean, what idiot doesn't know to ward off hexes with the charms we _just_ discussed ten minutes earlier. Honestly, most children should know a lot of this from their parents."

"You have to remember that not everyone comes from a magical family," Minerva insisted, only barely catching the disgusted expression on his face before it vanished. "You'll do well to remember that we have students at all levels here. You aren't expected to baby them, but different levels require you to alter your teaching methods."

"Really, do you need to lecture me outside the classroom?"

"Apparently I do," Minerva replied curtly, earning her a bit of a scowl in the dimly lit hallway. The pair marched up the staircase to the second floor in silence, greeting a pair of seventh year Hufflepuff on their way down to their common room for the night. Until curfew actually hit, they didn't need to do anything aside from watch for any activities that would break the rules normally. After curfew, the professors and prefects roamed the halls to find students out of bed, which was an offense that warranted a higher punishment than anything else.

She seemed to have put a bit of a dampener on his good mood, and the usual neutral expression she was used to returned after a half an hour of roaming the hallways. On the fourth floor, just as they passed a storage cupboard, Minerva heard something. It sounded out of place, and she paused, ears perking involuntarily. Suddenly, she heard it again; a giggle followed by hushing sounds. Tom joined her, his eyes narrowed on the door, and a few seconds later they heard the giggle again. Minerva rolled her eyes heavenward, wand drawn to throw the door open, but Tom was one step ahead of her. Grasping the doorknob silently, she barely heard the usual squeak this closet door had as he turned it. He then threw open the heavy oak door to reveal two sixth year students in the middle of canoodling.

"Back to your dormitories," Minerva snapped, completely aghast that they had the nerve to do this somewhere as public as a storage closet. "No stops along the way. Do you hear me, Fawcett? Kensington?"

The young lady looked absolutely scandalized to have been caught, and took off down the hallway faster than expected. Her boyfriend nodded at Minerva, his cheeks red, and quickly scuttled after her, calling for her once he was far away enough from the two professors.

"Honestly," Minerva sneered as Tom slammed the door shut. "The audacity!"

"At least they had their clothes on," Tom remarked, a bit of a bounce back in his step. "That was as fun as I remember."

"You've done that before?"

"A number of times in my prefect days," he explained as they resumed their leisurely march down the hallway, perfectly in time with each other. "That's a pretty common closet for students to meet up in. Caught a few myself, though I was never quite as harsh as you were on the culprits."

"Well," she started as she smoothed down the front of her dress and then readjusted her hat, "they shouldn't even be doing that on school grounds. There are little ones here too... Hardly decent."

He shot her a look, "You can't tell me in your seven long years in this castle… you never once met up with a boy in some abandoned classroom?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she scoffed, her cheeks tinting a little, "I was a good girl in school. At least _my_ parents could still be proud of me when I finished, unlike some of the girls today. Much looser morals in this generation…"

"Ah, so you were frigid."

"I was not!" she snapped, shooting him a narrowed look, her lips thinning at the conversation topic. "I just wasn't as brazen with my… my… endeavours as these girls are!"

"You had endeavours?"

She glared at him as he chuckled darkly under his breath, and then snapped, "Did you?"

"I see I've hit a touchy subject," Tom mused, smiling at her, "but try to stop blushing, Minerva. I feel like if more blood goes to your face, there won't be enough left for the rest of your body."

Her jaw nearly dropped, but she managed to maintain her composure long enough to ground out, "We are not discussing this here. It's inappropriate."

"Minerva," he chuckled, carrying on after her as she marched down the hallway, which seemed to get progressively dark as time passed. "Don't get offended, I was merely curious."

"Hardly something a gentleman asks a woman," she muttered under her breath, quiet enough so that he wouldn't hear. She pursed her lips and turned back to face him, "I'd like to indulge my curiosity then."

He stared at her, the short-lived mirth gone from his eyes, and they narrowed at her, "No."

"Oh, suddenly so uninterested in talking?" she demanded, pleased to have the upper hand as he walked ahead of her now, his pace a little quicker, "I'm not going to let the bathroom incident go. You had muddy footprints. Explain."

He stopped so abruptly that she actually ended up walking square into his back, and had to take a few steps away when he whipped around, glaring at her.

"I don't need to explain every detail of my life to you," he snarled, such intensity in his voice that it actually startled her momentarily. "You may be watching my classes at the request of dear Dumbledore, but outside them you are no higher up on the authority scale than I am. So no, I won't explain to you why I was in the bathrooms and why my shoes were dirty because it's none of your business."

The man spoke with such soft intensity, in a way that no one had ever spoken to her, and it was enough to make her take another careful step away. However, she wasn't a coward, nor would she let a bully know he had the power to potentially intimidate her. She arched an eyebrow, her features carefully schooled to show no signs of fear, and then took a step forward, recovering it smoothly.

"I see I've hit a touchy subject," she repeated, echoing his words from a few moments earlier. His lip twitched upward into what she expected was another snarl, but he remained silent. Instead, he seemed to take a moment to compose himself before firing back something she was eager to hear. However, before he could get it out, Peeves came bursting out of a suit of armour to the right, sending the heavy statue crashing down between them. It was so startling that Minerva actually let out a small shriek, which pleased the poltergeist immensely. He cackled noisily, and then tore off down the hallway, flying in and out of suits of armour until he had knocked them all over.

Minerva pulled out her wand and flicked it at the armour, causing the statue to spring back into place. When Tom turned away and stormed off down the hallway, she assumed he was off to fix the rest of them, but he blitzed right past them without a second glance.

"Where are you going?" she called. Did he intend on tackling Peeves on his own? As much as she hated the poltergeist, she had to admit that he was a crafty little fellow, and probably not easy to take down in a fight, even by a wizard.

"To find the Bloody Baron," he shouted back, his back still to her until it disappeared down a flight of stairs. With adrenaline still pumping through her, she quickly marched along the hallway and fixed the rest of the statues. Were they going to fight every time they were alone together? He was just the type of person to provoke her into losing her temper, and those were usually the people Minerva dismissed from the beginning.

"Professor McGonagall?"

She flinched in the darkness, eyes wide as she turned to the source of the voice. A squat woman stared back at her from a nearby portrait, which had been blank before, "The Ravenclaw prefects need you. They are close to their common area."

"Thank you," Minerva sighed, holstering her wand and marching on toward the staircase, going up at the same place that Tom went down.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**1950s!Scandalized Minerva! I kind of like her a lot. I'm not super happy with the chapter, but I think it turned out okay in the end. Tom's so frustrating to write sometimes. SO MUCH INNER FEELINGS, but not really. I don't know, I'm tired. But you can look forward to a Voldemort POV for the duelling club, which is two chapters away. Stay tuned! **


	7. Don't think we're okay

There were a number of reasons why one might decide to become an animagus. From what Minerva understood, many became one to carry out illegal activities. They would take the time to learn the very complex art, transform into the creature they were meant to be, but refuse to register with the Ministry. Eventually, these miscreants would be caught and arrested for illegally transforming themselves into animals without the Ministry's consent or knowledge. It seemed like a just reason, as many were prone to become thieves with their new secret identities, and no one could have that. Minerva studied to become one because she wanted to further her knowledge of the complicated magic that it entailed. She and Albus worked hard on prepping her the year after she finished school, and a year after she was able to completely transform into a replica of her young tabby cat, Gus. Once the transformation was complete, she registered with the Ministry, which was the only logical step to do. Turns out she was one of a select few animagi for the entire century at that point, and the attendant at the Ministry who handled her case seemed to think she would be one of the last. Fewer and fewer people were following the legal steps these days, which was unfortunate.

However, just because she took the appropriate steps to become an animagus, did not mean she wouldn't use it for less than credible activities. Usually, when Minerva wanted to overhear someone, or spy on them from a close, yet safe, distance, she did so as a cat. No one ever seemed to notice, or care, that a small tabby lurked in the corners during private conversations, particularly when they took place near an open window, or outside in a deserted park. Now, it wasn't like she regularly transformed into a cat to listen in on conversations. It was only in desperate times, or when the situation really called for it, and even then she endured a bit of an internal debate about the ethical implications of doing so. Most of the time, the people she was following hadn't done anything horrible enough to warrant such an invasion of privacy. There were the odd times that she wholeheartedly felt as though the people she stalked deserved every piece of information she stole from them to be used to help her case, but those were rare incidents.

Tom Riddle fit into those rare occasions. After his hot and cold act from the other night on patrol, he seemed to continue to keep his distance from her outside of the lecture hall. He ignored her when she sat at the back of his classroom, and she seldom saw him at meals. At this point, Thursday night, they had just finished patrolling the castle in near silence for the entire shift, and Minerva didn't feel as though she had the fight in her to goad him into a conversation. The day had been exhausting enough with a full schedule of lessons, and her one free period lost to Tom-watching, she knew she would be up until the wee hours of the morning grading homework assignments. There hadn't been any problems, per say, and Tom even showed up on time to give the prefects speech before the rounds started. However, neither seemed to have much to say to one another, and they split up for a half hour or so to monitor the hallways on their own. Perhaps they were tense because the last thing the pair did say to each other had been in the heat of an argument. He was the only member on the staff she had ever really fought with, and she certainly didn't want it to be a pattern for the rest of the year.

They exchanged curt good nights when their shift came to an end, and Minerva stalked back to her office in silence, mentally exhausted before she had even gotten into her marking. She did the majority of it in her office until midnight, and then retired to her private chambers to do another hour's worth before she called it a night. She settled into her plush queen sized bed, a bed that nearly engulfed her entire room, and spread her papers out around her to see. For some time, she compared two essays from a pair of fourth year Slytherin students that she suspected were copied from one another, and made a note in her planner to speak with them as soon as possible. After tucking those at the top of one of her folders, she reached out to grab another, her eyes weary, but still able to pull through another half an hour of reading, at the most. However, instead of touching her smooth file, she ended up grabbing a handful of her rather fat tabby cat's fur. The feline startled awake at the contact, and then yawned, quite happy to keep sleeping on top of her students' work.

"Gus," she laughed sleepily, poking his round belly with her finger. "You need to get off."

The cat yawned again, and then slowly arched himself up to his feet. He then sauntered up into her lap, settled back down, and immediately commenced purring. Little bastard knew that was the one way to win her over completely. Tossing her quill at the end of her bed, she snuggled down into the covers and pulled Gus on top of her chest, running both hands along his back as he lay on top of her, his eyes closed happily. For some reason, her mind wandered back to the elusive Tom Riddle, and it was at that moment, at nearly one-thirty in the morning, that she had a horrible idea, one that could blow up in her face the moment she set it in motion. She had wanted to rummage through his office for a long time now. The only time she had been in there was on her first day at Hogwarts in August. Since then, there hadn't been any reason to drop by. They weren't on friendly enough terms for her to casually pop in there to grab a spare piece of parchment, and she wasn't particularly sure what he had set up in terms of security. If she snuck in there in her human form, Minerva was bound to be caught.

However, if she went in looking like Gus… Her thoughts ran amok at the possibilities of finding something deeply incriminating in the man's office. Perhaps she was a little too tired, but for some reason, she thought it was a brilliant idea. Slipping out from under the covers, she kissed Gus on the head and nearly jumped into her en-suite bathroom. After staring at herself in the small mirror for a good minute or so, she closed her eyes and let the magic of transfiguration take hold of her.

One moment she was Minerva McGonagall, a tall, lean woman with a slim nose and thin lips, and the next she was a small tabby on all fours. She still had her human conscience when she was a cat, but her body felt a little deformed. It took some time to adjust to the feeling of being continuously bent over as she marched perfectly on all of her limbs. The longer she spent like this, the easier it would become. She also had to adapt to the extra sensitive hearing, and her ability to see nearly everything in the dark.

Gus absolutely loved it when she turned into a cat. The two could then communicate in a way that they couldn't when she was a human. He leapt off the bed as she sauntered out of the bathroom, and rubbed his face against hers, purring affectionately. She purred back, exchanging the greeting wholeheartedly, but didn't linger for long. Her body language signified that she had business elsewhere, and Gus was soon back on her bed, lounging across her pillow to await her return. Tail in the air, she moved quickly to her door, and grabbed hold of the thick piece of rope she had tied to the handle. Tugging on it as hard as she could, her little teeth gripping it with all their might, she finally heard the door click open, and she slipped outside into the hallway silently.

At this time in the morning, Hogwarts was definitely silent. As she padded along down the corridors, the only sounds she heard were the soft snores of portraits, and the occasional scuffle of a ghost going through the walls.

Halfway to Riddle's office, Minerva realized that it might actually be locked, or he could still be inside. It was at that moment she realized, again, that this was actually such a ridiculous, farfetched plan, with minimal chances at success. However, she was already on his floor, and it wouldn't be too much trouble for her to go and poke her head around to see if anyone was around. She crouched low, a stalking position that any cat would take when they caught sight of their prey, and crept along the wall opposite Riddle's office door. Much to her surprise, candlelight flickered out the door, which was ajar just enough for her lithe feline body to sneak through undetected.

Once inside, she kept her body close to the floor, tail swishing back and forth. It pleased her to not see any feet under his desk, and with no other sounds in the room, she figured he had gone for the night and left the candles burning. He really ought to remember to lock his office door. Never mind the fact that she managed to get in, what was he going to do when students snuck in and stole answer keys to his assignments, or worse? Nothing, really. What could he do? Minerva wasn't going to remind him about it either; if he was stupid enough to leave his office unlocked, then he probably deserved to have some of his things messed with.

She was also going to ignore the fact that right now, the door to her private chambers was slightly open. Hopefully Gus might think enough to nudge it shut, but he was probably already asleep, and had been from the moment she left.

From what she remembered of his office, not much had changed. There were two hard leather chairs in front of his desk now, but otherwise the rest remained the same. She did notice a portrait behind his desk of a rather sour looking wizard, who perked up the moment Minerva leapt from the floor to the top of the table. He glared at her, and then vanished.

At that moment, she realized she wouldn't have long before the portrait alerted its owner of the invasion of his privacy. This was why she came as a cat; if she had walked in there, the portrait would have been able to describe her, Tom could identify her, and that would cause some problems in the very near future. Unfortunately, as a cat, she had a great deal of difficulty actually investigating anything. With no thumbs to open the drawers, she was at a bit of a loss about what she could really do at this point. So, as quickly as she could, she nudged open file folders, knocking over an ink pot in the process, which made the fur on her back stand up. Keeping as quiet as possible, she pushed some pages around, but only found she was looking at the reading assignment he had collected today from his sixth years.

Oh, this really was a hopeless endeavour, aside from the fact that she now knew there was a portrait watching over Tom's office. She stalked across his desk, sniffing at papers and such, only to finally discover a handwritten note poking out from beneath a thick stack. She glanced up at the door, and when she heard no footsteps approaching, she dug one nail into the paper and dragged it out awkwardly. Standing over it, she realized that the writing on it were names of students. Taking a closer look, she saw Tom had matched students together into pairs, with one of the names circled in each match. If she had the facial muscles to do so, she would have frowned curiously. At this point, Minerva considered turning back into a human quickly, grabbing the note, and making a run for it. The portrait hadn't returned, and there was a pretty good chance no one would see her darting through the dark corridors.

Unfortunately, her moment had come and gone. Seconds later, the portrait returned to the picture frame, and she hastily jumped back in surprise, hissing involuntarily at the severe looking wizard. The sentiment was equal, apparently, and he grinned cruelly at her as the sound of footsteps picked up in the hallway. She quickly ran through her options. She could hide, but Tom would eventually find her, and that might be worse because it would prolong her agony in here. She could make a run for it, but judging by how loud the footsteps were, he was close. Therefore, Minerva resorted to the most feline thing she could think of.

When Tom Riddle stormed into the room, his hair a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his yellowing eyes in narrow slits at her, she was chewing lazily on the feathery tip of his quill, which stood upright in its holder at the corner of his desk.

"This is what you dragged me out of bed for?" he sneered at the portrait, "A student's cat eating my quill?"

"It's not a regular cat," the portrait argued defiantly. "It's snooping!"

Minerva wondered how on earth a silly old portrait could have suspicion in her, but when she saw the doubt in Tom's eyes, she decided to roll with that the best she could. Forgetting the quill, she moved to the edge of his desk and leaned forward, meowing at him in the friendliest manner she could. He approached the desk slowly, his expression weary, yet oddly vigilant, and he touched her head a little, fingers fiddling with her short fur. She noticed he was taking in the damage she had done to his desk, including the spilled ink and ruffled papers. Hoping to distract him, she arched herself up into his hand, purring as loudly as she could as he continued to run his hands over her back. It felt… surprisingly good. She walked back and forth across the edge of his desk, pushing her feline body up into his hand, almost genuinely enjoying the way he kneaded her little back, his eyes fixed on her.

He curled her tail around his fingers a few times, and she wondered how she was going to get out of this. Cats were notorious for switching their affections at the drop of a hat, and she decided that once she had had enough, she would jump off the desk and scamper out, apparently disinterested in him. However, her plan wouldn't actually come to fruition anytime soon. Suddenly, Tom stopped curling her tail and instead clamped his hand around it, and then hoisted her off the desk. Pain screamed through her body, directly up her spine, and she tried to curl up and scratch him as viciously as she could as she yowled. Minerva managed to get a few good swipes at his wrist, hopefully drawing blood, before he hurled her out into the dark hallway and slammed his door shut.

She landed on her feet, as any graceful feline would, but not without stopping for a moment to let the pain in her tail and back ease. Although she suspected he might be annoyed to find her there, she didn't think he would have thrown her out like that. Any civilized man could pick up a cat by the scruff of its neck and toss it aside, and if anything, that's what she had expected. As she raced back to her room, she realized her mission hadn't been a total waste. She discovered he was pairing students up for something, and from the names she recognized, the circled ones were upper year Slytherins.

Hmm.

Much more to investigate at another time. For now, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed as a human, snuggle up with Gus, and sleep the rest of the morning away for another six hours until she needed to get up and start the day over again.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I'm such an animal person, and it pained me to picture Tom doing that to her. Actually pained me, so much that I didn't want to write it. Because, who can be that much of a tool? Tom can. Tom can, and is. That's why we love him. **

**Thanks for the brilliant reviews, guys! Makes me endlessly happy, and probably why I get so excited to update as fast as I do! Love, love, love!**


	8. Just because I'm here

Voldemort was completely shocked that he had gone through two full weeks of teaching without Dumbledore carting him off to the Ministry under arrest. The man was irritatingly true to his word, and hadn't told a soul about his true alias outside the school. Voldemort must lay dormant to let Tom Riddle surface again, as much as it frustrated him. He thought he could shed that weak persona the moment he took up his true name, but apparently Dumbledore sought to strip him of his real title the second he stepped back in Hogwarts. Now, after Albus granted him a position at the castle, Voldemort nearly backed out. He left with his word that he would sign the contract Dumbledore would send to him the very next day, but an internal debate raged on furiously for the hours that followed. If he took the job, he would forsake his mission in the outside world in order to teach. He would have to trust that his 'friends' could carry on without him on his quest for pureblood supremacy and the Ministry downfall. At that point, he wasn't particularly sure if any of them could be trusted with such an important part of his very existence. Not only that, Voldemort knew that if he lived at Hogwarts, the path he had started toward immortality would be altered. It wasn't as though he had to stop completely, but he could not create a plethora of horcruxes right under Dumbledore's nose without being caught.

However, the positive aspects of this potential job eventually won out. Despite what everyone thought, including his Death Eaters, Voldemort genuinely wanted to teach. He had wanted to teach since he left Hogwarts, mostly because, as a young adult, he felt a little lost without the castle. It was his favourite place on this green earth, and the notion of spending the rest of his life living, teaching, and furthering his own magical knowledge within its sacred walls was appealing for a very long time. That dream vanished sometime after he immersed himself deeper than ever into the dark arts, but the fond memories of Hogwarts remained. In fact, he planned to hide a piece of his soul in the castle the very night he asked Dumbledore for the job, a token of just how much the old stack of bricks truly meant to him. Voldemort also realized there was something he could do for his cause from within the walls of Hogwarts. There were countless young minds ready to be influenced. These generations were the future, and if he wanted to succeed with the support of many behind him, he needed to start recruiting when they were young. As he signed his name on the dotted line of his contract, he envisioned dozens of young witches and wizards falling behind him once the year was up.

He also decided to use this year as a way to watch Albus Dumbledore. Naturally, the old fool invited him here as a way to keep Voldemort right under his nose, and perhaps even intimidate him enough to keep him from stepping out of line. Whatever stepping out of line was… In his eyes, the boundaries between acceptable and unacceptable were remarkably hazy, and they always had been. However, although Albus may have thought he was watching Voldemort, it was really the other way around. The older man had virtually destroyed the last fellow who tried to become the Dark Lord of Britain, and his mistakes were lessons Voldemort never intended to forget, namely the one that involved underestimating Albus Dumbledore. As much as Voldemort liked to think he knew a lot about magic and its intricacies, at this point he knew that his former transfigurations professor knew much, much more. He planned on using his spare time at Hogwarts to hole up in the library and study in a way he hadn't done since his school days. Even if he got a month in that castle, he would have unlimited access to the best magical texts that the United Kingdom had to offer, and he wasn't about to let that go to waste.

Now, he found it would be easier to actually do that if he got a moment's peace within this bloody castle. Before school even started he had people pestering him. Just about everyone on the staff team thought it prudent to come reintroduce themselves, despite the fact some had been teaching here while he was in school over ten years earlier. Slughorn, as much as he liked the man during his school years, was almost insufferable in the way he spoke to him at first, going on and on about how great Voldemort could have been, if only he applied himself. Apparently the man was disappointed that he worked for Borgin and Burkes for a number of years. Fool. He would never understand exactly what that position gave him; access to the oldest, darkest, and most powerful ancient artefacts that the dying of their society had to contribute. The oaf Rebeus Hagrid almost made it into his office to welcome him back, but when the half-giant realized exactly who Tom Riddle was – the boy who got him expelled all those years ago – he made a hasty retreat, and hadn't spoken to Voldemort since. Voldemort, however, found immense pleasure out of sitting or standing next to him in public, particularly when he didn't have the opportunity to wriggle away. He drank in the man's discomfort, and intended to torment him until his time in Hogwarts was up. Perhaps he could find another obnoxious pet to pin the blame on, should he get "out of hand" during the year. That would require further investigation, of course. The rest of the staff made their introductions during the week before school started, and his aloof and somewhat irritable return to their greetings was enough to keep them at bay.

And then there was Dumbledore. The man was in his office nearly every single day, even after term commenced, asking him how everything was going. He would usually sneer something at him, and ask if all the other professors received this kind of special attention, to which he replied that they certainly did. No matter where he went, Dumbledore always seemed to find him, whether he was hidden in the shelves of the library, seated by the lake with his lunch, or holed up in his office with the door locked. For the first week of the term he did genuinely try to avoid the man, as he was sick of being so blatantly watched, but eventually Voldemort decided it was easier to either go directly to the headmaster's office and report no news for the day, or catch the frustrating man somewhere in the hallway. Catch him before he caught Voldemort, sort of thing. It made him feel only a little less angry with the man, as he wouldn't continuously interrupt Voldemort's evenings with his inane visits. However, there was still some level of frustration that he needed to do it at all.

Now, Albus wasn't the only one he needed to watch out for. The man's protégé, Minerva McGonagall, was also always underfoot. He had signed a contract knowing fully well that someone would be in his lessons to monitor them, but he hadn't expected someone like Minerva, someone who had only been teaching for one year at that point. As he endured her company, he wondered what Dumbledore was playing at. It was clear that the woman was there to watch him, and she was doing a spectacular job at keeping him on his toes. When she almost caught him coming out of the Chamber of Secrets, after hiding Ravenclaw's diadem (his most recent horcrux) down with his beloved basilisk, and then refused to let the issue drop. He thought he may have to take action against her. In fact, he still figured he would have to do something to best her. Or at least shut her up. She was really too curious for her own good, and clearly reported Voldemort's every move back to Albus at the end of the day.

Therefore, whenever she watched his classes, he was on his very best behaviour. Outside of his lectures, he couldn't promise his behaviour would be at par with what was expected of a staff member. In several attempts to fend her off, Voldemort did whatever he thought he could do to make her uncomfortable. He invaded her personal space on several occasions, subtly threatened her when she stupidly left her wand elsewhere, and called her by her first name tauntingly, showing some sort of overfamiliarity with the woman that he obviously did not have. While some women may have blushed and minded their own business the second he tried any of these, Minerva did not.

In fact, Minerva seemed completely impervious to his foul moods, sarcastic comments, and death glares, all of which he aimed square for her. Outside this castle, he could have someone weeping at his feet with merely a look. Yet there she was, bold as brass, telling him what to do whenever the opportunity presented itself. The only time he had succeeded in making her uncomfortable was when he brought up her romantic past. In fact, the topic seemed to fluster her right off the bat, which was surprising, but not altogether unexpected. He didn't recall much about her from school, as they had no real reason to associate aside from Quidditch games, but he didn't remember her ever being the subject of gossip among his female friends, which meant she hadn't been with any boys at Hogwarts. He would use that to his advantage at some point, but for now he decided that he needed to know more about Minerva McGonagall before he could attack her in a way that would get her off his back. She would be a tough one to break; the other professors eased off when they realized he was rude, inconsiderate, and distant, all of which he did on purpose to create the barrier he wanted. Minerva, however, took all of his negative emotions in stride, and almost chided him as if he was being childish.

She was frustrating, and an enigma that he couldn't ignore. They were going to be around each other for some time, and he knew that she wanted there to be some semblance of a decent relationship. The rest of the staff adored the young professor, and had nothing but positive things to say whenever Voldemort asked out of the blue. Because of that, he wanted to tarnish her. He wanted to break and soil her in a way that none of her friends would be able to look at her the same again, but at this point in time, he couldn't quite figure out how. In time it would come to him, as all of his brilliance did, but for now he would let her think she had the upper hand. Besides, he was too focused on making the first night of the duelling club a raging success that he didn't have the time to think about Minerva McGonagall and her snooping ways.

So many students had signed up for the duelling club that he and Horace made the informed decision to move it to the Great Hall. It started at nine, and would continue until ten. Horace had gotten permission from Dumbledore to allow the students participating some lenience on curfew for the night, and Albus made an announcement at dinner this evening that curfew was extended a half hour to allow everyone the opportunity to get back to their dormitories. It was odd how well the headmaster was taking his new little club. He had been around when Dippet suspended the last one, and they were both aware just how competitive the students could get, particularly when Voldemort planned to goad them into doing their absolute best. He had a hidden agenda with this duelling club, of course. While he was actually interested in seeing how well students from all years and houses could perform, there were a select few that he had already taken an interest in. For some, it was because of the family they hailed from, with relatives already swearing their loyalty to him. For others, it was because they excelled in every single class. Finally, for the remainder, it was because they were snakes like him.

Voldemort had already made a list of the people he wanted to see duel on the first night. They were all in their sixth and seventh years, and he did it under the guise that he wanted the younger students to learn how to properly duel before the next meeting. Couldn't have any accidents serious enough to force Dumbledore to close them down for good. Sometimes it would take a little longer for his potential recruits to shine, but he wanted to get started immediately on the ones that already did so. It was the same in his classes. Minerva had made a snide comment that he was ignoring too many of his students. In actuality, he watched each and every one of them. Some were certainly simpletons, but some would be slow to show their real talent. When they did, that moment of achievement, coupled with his momentarily undivided attention would be too much for some, and they would be putty in Voldemort's hand. From there, he would mould, create, and devastate this wizarding world.

For now, he sat on the staff table in the Great Hall, watching as students filed into the room and crowded around the one long table he and Horace had left in the centre. The sky was horribly angry tonight, and lightning illuminated the enchanted ceiling frequently. The torches burned low, and he decided that he liked the ambiance. About a hundred students filled the hall, though he knew there were extras that hadn't signed up, and they were surely missing some who wrote their names down but decided not to go. No one approached him. He had taught nearly every single student in the castle at this point, aside from the select few who opted not to take his class, but by now they were becoming familiar. They also knew not to talk to him. He wasn't one for idle chatter, not with the masses. Once he had found his prime few, they could feel confident enough to approach him after hours, but not anytime sooner. Horace was different. The round little man strolled amongst them all, shaking hands with a few, no doubt on the lookout for new members of his Slug Club. Voldemort had been a part of it during school, and it was for the best of the best. It would be similar to his own club, only his would be shrouded in darkness and black magic, while Slughorn indulged his pupils in sugary desserts and old stories.

The only reason he actually got up earlier than he intended was when he spotted Minerva enter the hall, exchange a brief word with Horace, and then drift to the back, her keen eyes taking the scene in. Sliding off the table, he stalked across the room, making a direct line for her. She either pretended not to see him, or was actually too engrossed on searching for him elsewhere that she didn't notice him approaching. However, she flinched when he stood beside her against the wall of the Great Hall, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

"Have you come to tell Dumbledore whether I am following the rules for tonight's first meeting?" he inquired boldly, making her eyebrows shoot up. He hated that look. It was a look that said, _Oh, Tom, don't act like a little boy. _He wanted to take her skull and slam it back into the wall. That might get the look off her face. It wasn't an unattractive face, by far, but the meanings behind it made it hard for him to even acknowledge her unique beauty.

"Actually, I'm here for myself," she admitted, giving no indication that she noticed his snide remark about her being Dumbledore's lackey. "We haven't had a duelling club here for a very long time… I wanted to see how you would run it."

For Dumbledore, no doubt. Filthy liar, this woman could be. One day he would catch her in a lie and make her squeal for it, but not today.

"Well, there are only so many ways to run a duelling club," Voldemort remarked smoothly. "I hope you don't expect something revolutionary."

"To be honest, I'm never quite sure what to expect with you."

The comment took him by surprise. It was more personal than he was expecting, and when he looked at her, she had her gaze fixed pointedly on the crowd of students. He smirked at her a little, and then pushed himself off the wall toward the centre of the room.

"Gather round, gather round!" he beckoned loudly, his wand to his throat to enhance his voice. "I suppose it's time we started."

Voldemort wasn't one for shouting. It was uncouth, and an indication of man too weak in body and mind to capture the attention of those around him. It was the reason he spoke softly in his lessons, to keep pupils in rapt attention, and the reason he used a wand to amplify his voice now. Magic over idiocy, after all.

The crowd parted as he walked directly to the middle, and then climbed up onto the table. All eyes on him, he shrugged off his lengthy black cloak and tossed it on the seat of the bench. He wouldn't need it, after all.

"I would like to welcome you to the first duelling club meeting of the year," he greeted, his voice probably the liveliest any of his students had ever heard since they started the term. "Thank you all for coming… I'm sure we will do justice to the craft."

He strolled slowly along the table, eyes traveling through the crowd, "For those of you that are in their third year and above, you are welcome to duel tonight. Second years will be welcome when I have been informed you are taught defensive spells in class… This is not a lesson, nor will I teach you anything that you can learn from your other professors. I want to see your skills. I want you to teach each other how to properly defend yourself against an attack, but also how to play the strategic offensive dueller. I am certainly not here to coddle you. If you expected that, you may leave at any point. First years are welcome to stay and learn… I highly recommend that you do. However, at the request of your headmaster, you will not be permitted to duel."

Though it would have been highly entertaining.

"Each duel takes place between two wizards," Voldemort carried on. "Occasionally I will allow more, because that makes it much more interesting for both duellers and spectators. Whoever wins the duel will receive house points, which I will delegate based on how well-deserved your victory is. The one student who scores the highest for the entire night will be granted private tutoring sessions with me… and there I will truly teach you the finesse of beating _any_ opponent in a match, no matter your situation."

He pointed at Horace, "Professor Slughorn will referee the matches. My rules are that you follow the standard code for any duel, which I will demonstrate momentarily. Otherwise, feel free to compete as many times as you like. No spells should be used if there is no cure for their outcomes, and nothing… unforgivable."

Unfortunately.

"I will dock points for failure to comply with the duellers' code of ethics at the start and end of a match," Voldemort concluded. "Let me demonstrate the proper way to duel."

Voldemort looked back at Slughorn, but when their eyes met, he felt no thrill erupt in him to challenge the older man. Instead, his gaze moved involuntarily back to Minerva, and he grinned cruelly.

"Perhaps Professor McGonagall will be so kind as to demonstrate a proper duel for everyone with me?"

He watched as all heads swivelled back to the young professor at the side of the hall. She sucked in her cheeks, and then nodded, marching across the room in her heavy skirts and large-brimmed hat. Students parted for her again to step onto the bench of the table, but Voldemort was quick to hold out his hand politely. She seemed hesitant to take it, but did so anyway, and he helped her up onto the table.

"Hope you've got your wand on you this time," he whispered, making her cheeks tint angrily. He smirked, and then turned his attention back to the students. "To begin a duel, we meet at the centre of our combative stage."

The pair walked to the middle of the long table, her wand resting loosely in her hand now. This would be fun.

"We then face one another," Voldemort explained, the entire hall silent as his students watched, "and we bring our wands to the ready. It's done to show the weapon you'll use in the duel, and nothing else is allowed."

He and Minerva both raised their wands to their face, her expression calm, but inside he was sure the woman was at least a little annoyed with him. Surely she just wanted to play spectator for the night, but Voldemort wouldn't have any of it. He wanted to test what kind of a fighter she was; just in case the need to silence her in a more permanent manner ever arose.

"You must then bow to your partner. Whether or not you like them, you must always show respect for their magical talents," Voldemort continued, stooping a little lower than necessary to rub it in. Minerva tossed her hat onto the bench seat, and then bowed in return. "We then turn and march to the appropriate marks… Usually ten paces is a good distance."

He silently counted the steps with each one he took, and then turned back to face his opponent. Minerva was already in her defensive stance, wand at his chest level, her free hand behind her for balance. Each wizard or witch had their own stance when they fought. Voldemort preferred to hold his wand over his head and attack viciously from above. Like a dominant handshake, he enjoyed the way his stance could overpower whoever dared fight him.

"And then… we begin, no preference over who casts the first spell," Voldemort finished, and decided he was the one that ought to start the duel. "_Stupefy_!"

The spell shot out of his wand so powerfully that Minerva only just deflected it. She seemed a little thrown off; perhaps she hadn't thought they were actually going to duel, but rather show the start and finish to illustrate what was expected of the students. No, Voldemort fully intended to beat her in front of everyone under the guise of giving a demonstration. With her deflection came another spell fired back at him, which he also blocked, and sent one back in return. They kept their spellwork fairly basic, but at a level that the fifth years and above should be fighting at. Cracks of electricity and magic illuminated the room. As they duelled, Voldemort decided that she was better than he gave her credit for. She showed no signs of weakness in her face, though her spells weren't as aggressively sent toward him as the ones he sent at her, she was quite capable of blocking and defending herself. Her voice was firm and clear when she spoke, no hint of shakes or quivers that he heard from women in other duelling circumstances. No, Minerva was a formidable opponent, he decided, but only formidable for a less extraordinary wizard. Voldemort let her carry on for about two minutes, and finally sent two spells at her in rapid succession, the second one she nearly missed deflecting, and then summoned her wand to him. And with that, the wand popped from her hand and landed in his, ending the duel.

The hall broke out into a round of applause, no doubt for the brilliant display between two professors, but he liked to think that there were a select few who clapped only for him. He held up his hands, quieting the crowd, "In days gone by, the wizard who won the duel got to keep the loser's wand."

"Such a shame we no longer live in such uncivilized times," Minerva said loudly as she stalked across the table, stopping in the middle where they had bowed, her hand outstretched. "No one will worry about losing their wands tonight."

He reluctantly let the unfamiliar wood fall back into her hand, and she made to turn away, but he stopped her. A hand firmly grabbed the crook of her elbow. He wanted to drag her back, remind her of her place, but instead he held her where she stood, "We cannot forget to show respect for those we duelled with. We bow to end the duel."

Minerva gave something of a stiff bow, which mirrored his own, and then stepped off the table without another word. She gathered her hat, and his discarded outer robe. His eyes were fixed on that stupid hat, and therefore her, as she slipped through the crowd, handed Slughorn his robe, and then departed. Apparently she wasn't there to watch the proceedings of the night. Or, perhaps she had had enough already.

"I won't go over the rules of a proper duel again," he said finally when she disappeared. "I believe that was demonstration enough. We have another forty minutes… enough time for about five duels, depending on how well you do."

Voldemort stepped down onto the bench, mentally picturing the names of students he had already written down, and then pointed at a sixth year Slytherin named McNair, "McNair and … Wallace, why don't you two start us off?"

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I hope I didn't fully disappoint with the duelling club. I don't think it would be all that interesting watching students duel… It didn't seem interesting to me to write, or to read, hence why it ended where it did! We will see what Voldemort does with the winners, and he'll be starting a little Slug Club of his own very soon. **

**I actually had this weird fascination with watching how people duelled in the movies. Voldemort, Bellatrix and Draco (in CoS) all held their arms over their heads, while characters like Harry and Ron and even good ol' Dumbles did not. It just seemed interesting to me that the way one holds their wands can give little insights into personalities. **

**Also, YEAY VOLDEMORT POV. I had a lot of fun writing him, so I think I'll include more Voldemort POV chapters than I originally intended. So far, I think he's the right balance between crazy and genius to make it work, even for AU. **

**Love, love, love to all my reviewers! Means the world to me! Makes my day every time I get one, so thank you!**


	9. You hurt me bad, but I won't shed a tear

Minerva needed Quidditch today. After her embarrassing defeat at the duelling club last night, she was in no mood to discuss Tom Riddle with Albus, nor did she want to see him. She had spent all of last year instilling a certain image in her students. Just because she was the youngest professor on the staff team didn't mean she wasn't to be taken seriously. She detailed her reputation around the school to represent the one she wanted; a young professor who was good at what she did, and would have no problem putting _anyone_ in their place, should it be necessary. However, in one night, she felt that Tom Riddle had spoiled it for her. Now, she never claimed to be the best dueller in the world, but she never thought her abilities were lacking in that department. She fended him off for two minutes or so, all the while feeling a little overwhelmed. Naturally, she wouldn't show that he was absolutely beating her as the seconds ticked by, but she sort of hoped for a comeback. However, before she could bring out a signature move, one that had used to win duels in the past, he hit her quickly with two spells at once, and summoned her wand to him immediately after. It threw her, and she had to double check to make sure it had actually happened. The whole thing came to a halt so quickly. He was an expert dueller, no doubts there, but he was even better than she expected.

After their duel, the students watching applauded, and Minerva wanted to bark something at them to make them stop. Her logical side knew they were cheering on their professors for a rousing demonstration, no doubt in an exuberant mood because they were at the first duelling meeting for the year. However, her illogical side, the side that sometimes surfaced when she lost, told her they were only clapping for Tom, the man who finally put the point-deducting Professor McGonagall in her place. It was… embarrassing. Pride hurt, she left the room as quickly as possible and locked herself in her room, grading papers until the wee hours of the morning. She might have just been a sore loser, but there was something extra potent about losing to Riddle. Something in the way he looked at her made it that much worse.

So, when she woke the next morning, a little too early, she stormed down to breakfast in a bit of a fog, frustrated at her loss. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had practice at nine o'clock that Saturday morning, and the morning clouds matched her mood; grey. Mercifully, they didn't look like they would open anytime soon to let the Heavens rain down, so they were probably safe until the afternoon. However, she needed to be out in the open air, high above the ground, shouting at the chasers of the Gryffindor team. Shouting was always much more acceptable in Quidditch, and it would come across as her trying to be helpful on the pitch, rather than releasing her frustrations over the previous night.

After storming into the Great Hall, she took a seat next to Pomona and helped herself to some eggs. The hall was nearly empty, save for a few Gryffindors nursing a cup of coffee. If she studied them, she would note all were on the team, and would see in her an hour's time.

"Morning, Minerva," Pomona greeted. She was the only other staff member at the table aside from Madame Pomfrey. "How are you this morning?"

Minerva stared at her black coffee for a moment, and then sighed, "Bitter."

The dumpy little witch, one of her closest friends here, giggled as she forked the remainder of the bacon from a platter onto her own plate, "This bitterness wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you lost a very public duel last night, would it?"

She looked at the woman sharply, "How do you know about that?"

"Horace mentioned it in passing this morning," Pomona explained as she drizzled her plate with syrup. Minerva felt her gaze harden. Although they may have looked professional, she had come to realize that every member of the staff was actually a horrible gossip, and loved to discuss their own amongst one another. Minerva liked to stay out of it, but Pomona always brought out the worst in her. Suddenly, she frowned. When had Pomona seen Horace this morning? It had only just gone eight, and the man barely ever made it to breakfast…

"Where is Horace?" Minerva inquired, putting two and two together, but keeping her opinion silent. She heard her friend clear her throat, and then take a sip of her coffee.

"Oh, he… He was on his way to his office before breakfast," Pomona stammered a little weakly. "I saw him in the hallway."

Suddenly, Minerva didn't feel quite so embarrassed about her ridiculous failure at duelling. She brought her black coffee up to her lips and blew on it, eyeing Pomona Sprout over the top of the cup, "And he just decided to get up this early on a Saturday to… go to his office?"

"I think he wanted to start marking early," the woman replied, her cheeks reddening. Ha! Minerva's eyes widened and she poked Pomona's arm.

"You saw him somewhere else this morning, didn't you?"

"No."

"You did!" Minerva marvelled as her friend's cheeks continued to redden, "Are you… Are you being… intimate with him?"

"Keep your voice down!" Pomona hissed, her eyes darting around the nearly empty hall.

"I'm already whispering," Minerva stated, setting her coffee down and facing Pomona directly. "How long?"

"It's a recent development," her friend sniffed, scooping some bacon onto her fork and shoving it in her mouth, "and you can't breathe a word of it to anyone!"

"Don't be silly," she said briskly. "The only person I gossip with is _you_."

"Well, good," the curly-haired woman exhaled. "I don't know what's going to become of it, but I don't want anyone to know. He'll be dreadfully embarrassed, I think."

"What nonsense," Minerva rolled her eyes. "Any man would be proud to have you as his… partner."

She wasn't particularly sure about what to call this relationship. Women were slowly becoming freer with themselves as the decade drew to a close, but after her one horrible relationship with a Muggle man in her youth, Minerva wasn't exactly jumping on the bandwagon. The man had been her sweetheart, but it could never work out. They were just too different, and while working for the Ministry, she couldn't reveal herself to a Muggle. Therefore, she ended it before she fell too hard for him, and kept herself closed off ever since. Her parents had raised her with the right moral integrity, and Minerva McGonagall wasn't about to go jump into a man's bed after one date, of which she had had a few over the years. They were all miserable failures too, but it wasn't something she focused on. She had work, her clients, and now teaching to occupy her time. Unlike the new generation of women, she wasn't completely intent on exploring her sexuality with the first man who bought her flowers. Not that she looked down on Pomona and Horace for what they were doing. Pomona was older, and really had the right to be with any man she pleased. It would be very hard to date while teaching in Hogwarts, and if she found a man who could… satisfy her urges, even if it was Horace Slughorn, then Minerva wasn't about to stand in her way.

"Now, wait," Pomona said suddenly the moment the blood left her cheeks. "Why are we discussing me? You were the one who came in here in a mood!"

"I think you've managed to lift it, as always," Minerva lied as she pushed her eggs around on her plate. "I'd rather not talk about it anymore, if that's all right with you?"

"If you can respect my privacy, I can certainly grant you the same," Pomona mused, shooting her a friendly smile as the woman continued to eat. For some reason, Minerva wasn't hungry. She waited for her coffee to cool a little and watched as students began to file into the Great Hall. The hour ticked by slowly, and as the tables began to fill, Minerva downed the last of her coffee and rose. She would have waited the final twenty minutes before she needed to leave, but at the off chance of Riddle actually coming to breakfast today, it would be better to leave sooner.

She took the long way out to the Quidditch Pitch, stopping at the shed nearest to the castle to grab one of her older brooms. At the start of the year, she had put a broom in each of the Quidditch cupboards, as she had a few to spare from her old days on the pitch. That way, whenever she wanted, or needed, to fly, she would be able to find one quickly. Like her previous venture back to the stadium, she left her wand in her office. She found that it was just a distraction during the game; she never played with it during matches, so why have it on her during practices?

Despite the horrible cloud cover, it wasn't actually too cold outside yet. It might be mid-September, but the temperature was quite lovely this time of year. Clad in a black sweater with the school's emblem on the breast and a pair of khaki Quidditch pants, she felt ready to face the day. Most of the students on the team had probably been at the duel last night, and she hoped no one would bring it up. As she tromped down the natural stairwell to an open field, the Quidditch pitch in the distance, she spotted Roger Wood waiting for her at the bottom. He grinned as she approached, both holding their brooms the same way, and then fell into step with her.

"The rest of the team should be along shortly," he told her. She frowned a little as the wind picked up, and then looked at the sky, pleading silently for it to stay the way it was, nothing worse. "You know… I think you could have beaten him last night. He just got lucky."

Her lips thinned distastefully, but she reminded herself that he was just trying to be nice. That, or he genuinely thought she would be able to best Tom Riddle had he not been lucky.

"Thank you," Minerva forced. "I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Noted, professor."

"Have you drawn up the plays I asked from you?" Minerva inquired, changing the subject to ease some of the tension, which mostly emanated from her.

"I just finished the last ones this morning," Wood beamed. "I'll bring them to your office after practice, if you want to have a look."

"You don't want to implement them today?"

"I was hoping for your stamp of approval first," he admitted with a shrug, making her eyebrows shoot up. "You obviously know what you're doing."

"Don't take everything I say as law in Quidditch," Minerva chuckled. A broom in hand, the wind in her ponytail, and a pair of comfy pants… Yes, Quidditch was already making her day a bit better. "After all, I haven't played a game in _years_… And we never actually won a tournament when I was captain."

"Doesn't mean you don't know what you're talking about," Wood argued. "Once we get into it, I'm sure you'll be fantastic."

She shot him a bit of a look, one that he missed as he stared out at the pitch. Minerva wasn't particularly sure how comfortable she was with his overfamiliarity when they were out here. That was probably the only reason he gave off that vibe, but she didn't want him thinking he could overstep his boundaries elsewhere. The only reason she encouraged him about Quidditch was because she was friends with his cousin, as the pair had played together during school. They kept in basic touch over the years, but nothing more than a Christmas card and a few letters.

The pair slipped into the pitch through the side of the stands, and she noticed that all his Quidditch equipment for the day was already set out. He was certainly dedicated to his team considering he must have been up for well over two hours lugging all the gear down from the sheds. Unless he used magic, but she assumed it was a little too early for students to function, and he probably didn't think of it.

"So, I think I'm going to get everyone to do some warm-ups together," he explained as she leaned her broom against the Quidditch trunk, "and then I'm going to work with the keeper for a bit, if you want to take the chasers on. Our beaters are the same as last year, and they know what they need to work on. Can't say either of us will be much help for the seeker-"

"He can train by himself," Minerva informed him. "That's how it always is."

"True."

She turned her head at the rambunctious sounds coming from the entrance to the lower half of the pitch, and she frowned as the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team came barrelling in. None of them looked particularly pleased, and it certainly didn't take long for her to figure out why.

"Professor, the Slytherin team is on their way here," Bill Hawthorne, keeper, informed her loudly over the outraged conversations of his team. "They say they've booked the pitch, but we've had it booked for weeks now!"

"Rubbish," Wood snapped, throwing his broom down irritably. "I checked last night, and the pitch was still ours… Unless one of those sods went and changed it, it's ours for the next two hours!"

"All right, all right," Minerva barked, getting Wood's attention, if anyone's. "Keep your tempers in check. I'll talk to their captain, and inform him that the pitch belongs to Gryffindor… and he should have signed up for it sooner."

"Thanks," she heard Roger mutter, and she nodded. Her moment to shine came shortly after, as the Slytherin team soon marched into the pitch, brooms in hand, and a Quidditch trunk of their own. She was about to walk toward the captain, a rather lanky boy named Avery, but Minerva felt her steps falter when she spotted Tom Riddle amongst them.

Oh, for Merlin's sake!

Her eyes narrowed, and he shot her a bit of a smirk before sauntering to the side of the pitch to put down a bag. Annoyingly enough, they were actually dressed similar, though Tom had opted for grey pants instead of tan. Hers hid the dirt better, she thought smugly. However, with all eyes of the Gryffindor team on her, she had to act quickly to diffuse a potentially dangerous situation.

"Avery," she called sharply, marching directly over to him. He was actually about a foot taller than she was, but she held her ground, hands on her hips. "Would you care to tell me why you and your team are here this morning?"

"Well, to practice, Professor," he replied dully, and her eyes narrowed at his tone. She could have sworn she heard some sniggers behind him. This was _exactly_ what she wanted to avoid being the young professor, and standing here in a similar training uniform to her Gryffindor team certainly didn't help matters.

"I am fully aware of the theoretical reasons for coming to the Quidditch pitch," Minerva snapped harshly, making the boy frown. She noticed Tom had joined the group and was working his way to the front, no doubt to defend the boy. "What I want to know is why you are all here right now, when Mr. Wood tells me the pitch has been booked for Gryffindor for weeks?"

"Well, Wood's mistaken then," Avery remarked. "It says Slytherin when I checked this morning."

"Filthy liar!"

"Wood, temper," Minerva hissed, forcing him to back down a little.

"Now, we do seem to be in quite the situation," Riddle mused, his hands folded together in front of him. "The word of one student against the word of another… Are you picking sides, Professor McGonagall? Surely house rivalries do not extend into one's teaching career?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, "And may I ask why you're here, Professor Riddle?"

"Well, you've inspired me to get more involved with the students," he explained, clapping a hand down firmly on Avery's shoulder, who winced. "So I decided to come out and help train Slytherin's seeker… Who, from what I've heard, is really just awful."

A stout boy named Grimsby blushed behind him and stared at his feet. She threw her shoulders back, acutely aware of the height difference between the two male combatants and herself, and then pursed her lips, "I suppose the only real way is to go check the sign-up sheet in the main hallway."

"Or we could duel for it?"

This time she definitely heard some giggles from the Slytherin crowd, and she glared at him dangerously, "A moment of your time, Professor Riddle… in private."

She certainly didn't give him the luxury to refuse, and stalked off toward the right of the pitch, her hands threatening to curl into fists. He had ruined it! He had ruined Quidditch for her that morning! She only stopped when the grass did, and glared down at the lower level of the pitch before turning back around to look at him. He approached her with something of a smug grin on his face, and he rolled his eyes, "Oh come now, Minerva, it was just a joke."

"Hardly an appropriate one to say in front of students," she sneered, her calm composure that she always reserved for Tom Riddle completely forgotten, "_especially _in a situation like this!"

"Don't act like it's an actual problem," Tom drawled, his face amused, but his eyes decidedly different. "All we have to do is go check the sheet, like you said."

"Why couldn't you have just agreed with me then?"

"I liked my answer better."

Her jaw nearly fell open, and she pointed a finger at him, "You… You are…"

However, instead of insulting him, she regained her normal attitude faster than anticipated, and took a deep sigh to calm herself. He merely grinned at her, his head cocked to the side, "You can't be this angry with me because I beat you in a duel... Such a sore loser, Minerva."

"Hardly," she sneered, "but I would prefer not to be demoted to something less than a student by you when we are around them."

"And yet you figuratively castrate me nearly every time we have a lesson together," Tom mused, a look of mock thoughtfulness on his face. "Yes, makes perfect sense to me now."

"If you have something to say, say it," Minerva demanded suddenly, shooting a quick look at the two teams. They were talking amongst each other, and so far that was all the rivals were doing. "Don't dance around it anymore."

She hadn't expected it to come out, but she grew tired of his snide remarks about her position around the castle, particularly when it came to the assignment Dumbledore gave her. His lip twitched slightly, and she noticed a remarkably cold expression cross his face. It was actually quite a startling change from the goading mask he wore before, and she nearly felt like taking a hesitant step back, in case he would rather do something than say it. However, his moment to do was lost when a fight erupted behind them. Minerva's head swivelled back quickly. She saw that at least five members of each team were involved, Wood one of them, and she let out an exasperated groan.

"Do you have your wand?" Riddle demanded as they jogged back to the scene. She shook her head and looked at him questioningly, and he growled, "Mine's in my bag."

So, wandless, both professors dove into the mess of students. Minerva ducked out of the way to avoid flailing fists.

"Stop this, stop this at once!" she cried, grabbing hold of a skinny Slytherin boy and dragging him off of Wood and Davies, another Slytherin who were pounding on one another. Minerva heard Riddle saying similar things as he wormed his way between another two students, a disgusted expression on his face, but no one seemed to heed their professors in the slightest. Those that weren't fighting were cheering on their teammates, and it was an atrocious mess in a matter of seconds. Wood managed to push the boy down onto his back, a few punches to the face as the Slytherin jabbed his knee into his stomach, and Minerva just wanted to end it.

"Wood!" she all but shouted, grabbing hold of his shoulder in an attempt to get him off before serious damage was done. Suddenly, he brought his elbow back with such force, blind in his physical rage toward Davies, that he actually slammed it violently into her nose, knocking her back. She didn't cry out, to her credit, but she crumpled to the ground and quickly grasped her nose, which had already started to bleed. It had to be broken. The pain made her eyes water terribly, but she made no vocal expressions of her pain. She had broken her nose on occasion before, and usually on the pitch, but that came from a ball hitting her, not the hardened bone of someone's elbow.

"Oh, professor, are you all right?"

She felt hands descend on her, and she pushed herself away from the fight with her feet. That seemed to rouse Wood from his anger, and he turned around quickly, eyes wide, "Professor!"

"I'm fine," Minerva managed, hastily wiping blood away before it drained into her mouth. "It's fine, it's fine… Broken noses bleed a lot."

It hurt to talk. She winced as two pairs of hands helped her to her feet, and she caught sight of Riddle dragging back the Slytherin Wood had been fighting with just as he attempt to jump him from behind. He gave her a once over, seemingly annoyed, "I can fix it."

"It's fine," she gasped, frustrated that he had already turned away and was off to, no doubt, retrieve his wand. "I'm going to the hospital wing. I suggest anyone else bleeding do the same. When I return, I want this sorted out like reasonable adults, or you'll all be banned from practice for the next two weeks for fighting!"

Wood tried to say something, but she pushed past him, too focused on getting to the Hospital Wing so she could have her nose repaired. The longer it was broken, the more painful it felt. It must have been a good break, as it had never hurt like this before, and she felt blood trailing down the front of her face like a fountain. As she stalked toward the entrance of the stadium, she heard Riddle call her name, but she ignored him. Instead, she headed directly into the tunnel and exited the other side, bent on walking fast enough that he might lose interest in fixing her nose. Why on earth he wanted to do it in the first place was beyond her, nor did she care.

Before she could get far, a hand caught her by her wrist and dragged her back forcefully. She collided with the hard outer wall of the pitch, knocking her head a little, and she cried out a little at what the vibration did to her damaged nose. Tom Riddle stood in front of her, his expression still horribly cross, and for a half second she considered telling him off again. _He_ was angry with _her_, as she stood there with a broken nose? This man was insufferable, and horrendously difficult to read. He smacked her hand away from her face, and replaced it with his own as he held her by the top of her neck, fingers curved up to her ears as a way to manipulate her skull, perhaps keep it in place.

"I _said_ I could fix it," he snarled, and then pointed his wand at her nose. "_Episkey_!"

Minerva released something of a strangled cry as the magic cracked her nose back into place and the trail of blood suddenly stopped, Her hand flew up and stopped just short of touching his wrist, a sort of knee-jerk reaction and her eyes widened as a hot and then cold sensation flooded her nostrils. Fixed, just like that.

"I didn't doubt your abilities," she muttered. He pulled his hand away, allowing her body to relax as she tried to wipe off the drying blood with the neck of her sweater. Tom gave her a look, one that made her a little uncomfortable, and then turned back toward the entrance of the pitch.

"I'll take the Slytherin team to practice elsewhere," Minerva heard him snap. With that he was gone, back inside to no doubt collect his troublesome team.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Oh silly Tom. He's such a hot and cold type of guy, and I can actually feel Minerva's frustration with him. How are you supposed to take a guy like that? I especially enjoyed seeing it in the films. One second he's all quiet and stalking around, the next he's Avada-ing a random Death Eater for showing concern. Oh Voldie, so complex. I like to leave the chapters in a fit of confusion sometimes… makes us feel what Minerva's feeling. **

**Also, Sprout and Slughorn make me giggle. Just because. **

**So, after reviewing the Minerva McGonagall HP Wikipedia page, suddenly her birth year has changed. It's moved to 1935, making her almost ten years younger than Voldemort. I believe it's been updated since Pottermore opened, because later in the article they make references to her and Voldemort being classmates, her being older. So, that's a little frustrating. I wanted to stick as close to canon as possible, despite being a "What if?" type of storyline, and … you know, an AU romance lurking in the background. So I'm a little frustrated now. Super excited about getting more information on her, but still a little annoyed that it's thrown off my dates. In the recent year of new fanfic for me, I try really hard to make dates work. It's kind of my pet peeve at this point. **

**Soooo. I'm going to roll with what I had planned – in this fic, she's still a year older than Riddle, and they **_**did **_**go to school together. Ugh. **

**LOVE LOVE LOVE FOR THE REVIEWS, MY DARLINGS. Until next time!**


	10. I'm leaving you for the last time, baby

Birthdays had never been a particularly celebrated tradition in Minerva's family. The only one who actually got upset when it wasn't acknowledged was her younger brother. Each year he insisted that he wanted everyone together, there _must_ be a cake, and after the pair became legal, everyone must get suitable drunk. It was a family affair, and the McGonagalls used it as an opportunity to meet with extended family and get a little sloshed in the moors of Scotland. So, in a way, it wasn't necessary dedicated just to her little brother, despite the fuss he made over the necessity of the birthday celebration. It was a family celebration, but on the day he was born. Minerva never said it out loud, but she was quite sure it was the only time he actually let himself have an ego. For the remainder of the year, he lived his life as a humble artist with his pets, content to work for the minimum as long as he could do what he loved. Minerva, on the other hand, was like the rest of her family when it came to birthdays. For the most part, she didn't care. Of course, she liked the lovely little card her parents would sign for her, and sometimes, if she was in the mood, she would treat herself to something special with dinner. However, she usually didn't tell people that October 4th was her birthday, and when it passed without anyone giving comment otherwise, she decided that suited her just fine.

In all honesty, she didn't like the attention birthdays brought. She usually felt embarrassed with all the attention focused on her, and she wasn't one for getting completely drunk, greedy for gifts, or eager to be doted on. Therefore, why should she bother? It made complete logical sense to accept her card from her parents, which arrived in the Great Hall at breakfast from the family owl, and she hoped no one else pushed for anything more. The staff team was really big on birthdays. She discovered last year that whenever someone had a birthday, there was a hefty amount of drinking done in the staff room until the wee hours of the morning. Like Christmas, it was an excuse for everyone to get together, have a good time, and get a little more alcohol in them than the average Hogsmeade trip could offer. It wasn't like they were all drunks; Minerva was always pleasantly tipsy whenever she allowed herself more than a glass of some beverage concoction, but never drunk. Everyone had their limits, and they were all perfectly aware that it was inappropriate for a student to see them drunk. Now, a student could certainly see them feeling the effects the next day, but could chalk it up to their professor being in a particularly sour mood.

Her birthday was on a Wednesday, and it passed without a hitch. She started her day with a full three blocks of lessons, where she only came close to losing her cool once with a group of third years. After a lovely lunch with Albus, the only other person she permitted to know and acknowledge her birthday, she monitored Tom for a period, in which he was perfectly civil, and then ate a cosy dinner in bed with Gus, courtesy of the house elves. All in all, it was actually a great day. It wasn't even her week for prefect rounds with Tom, she wasn't forced to spend more time with him than necessary. If she had, she felt like he might have said something to spoil what a fantastic day she had been enjoying, and certainly didn't want the stress.

After all, it was October now, and she had all of her students preparing for their first set of examinations for the year. For the most part, she had nearly everything written, as her exams began next week on everything they had done in their first month, along with review from the year before. If students thought it was stressful to write them, Minerva found it exhausting to create them, and the thought of grading them afterward was certainly daunting. All of that was compiled with her normal assignments, Quidditch practices (which she felt she needed to attend to work on the chasers after a disastrous first game against Hufflepuff), and losing a full period a day (nearly) in an effort to watch Tom Riddle. In summary, Minerva had a full plate. Naturally, the woman was adept at handling stress, and took it all in stride. A weaker person might have crumpled, but she did her best to ensure that she stayed on top of everything. After all, that was why people had faith in her; she was reliable under pressure. Besides, she wasn't the only professor who had extracurricular activities. Slughorn had his 'Slug Club', Pomona ran a bi-weekly meeting for Herbology enthusiasts, Hooch had a flying club, Riddle had the duelling club, and Flitwick had an underground choir movement on the rise. Everyone was busy! That was to be expected during the year. Not everyone was spying on a fellow professor, but that was beside the point. Minerva could handle it.

In fact, Tom was making it increasingly easy to handle the heavy load that she had for the year. Yes, he still seemed as confusing as ever, but since their run-in on the Quidditch Pitch, Tom Riddle had been remarkable civil. Perhaps he just needed an adjustment period once he returned to Hogwarts, but the week following Quidditch saw him eating more often in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff. He was still quite antisocial, and usually only spoke with Slughorn, and occasionally Minerva if they ended up sitting next to each other. Hagrid hadn't become any more comfortable with the man, and she felt bad for him the instant Tom decided to sit next to him. When she asked Albus about their history together, she learned the Riddle was the one who found Hagrid's beast in the castle all those years ago, when the Muggle born students were being attacked and the death of Myrtle stung the school. Apparently, Tom was the one to turn him and his beast in, and therefore directly influence his expulsion. She wasn't sure what his angle was when he sat next to Hagrid, as he never spoke to the man. In fact, Tom barely looked at the half-giant when she saw them together, and she wondered if he was trying to make a silent atonement for his past involvement in Hagrid's drama.

Regardless of how uncomfortable he made Hagrid, Minerva built her tolerance for the man right back up after their somewhat ridiculous weekend of duelling and Quidditch problems. Since then, he had been civil. And by civil, she meant that he kept his temper in check (even with some of the more trying students) and kept his snide remarks to himself when they were together. In fact, she had seen a vast improvement in many aspects of Riddle's life at Hogwarts. He seemed a little more enthusiastic with teaching, though the effort usually waned by the end of the lesson. She noticed he kept his word and did take students back to his office for private tutoring in duelling when someone came out on top. In a way, that almost quelled house competition; people wanted to duel because he taught them how to do it properly. The house points he gave out were minimal, at best, and it made them strive hard to personally do their best. It was strange, but she hadn't seen students this dedicated to anything outside the classroom aside from Quidditch, and nearly everyone was involved. She certainly didn't want to give him too much credit, but he was actually doing a decent job as a professor at this point. Yes, he was still short with students who didn't grasp the criteria right away, but he seemed more willing to repeat something for clarity's sake as the month wore on.

He had been so good that Minerva expressed her concern to Albus that she was wasting her time. In fact, she had expressed it more than once. However, each time Minerva went to Dumbledore, he told her to hang in there, and remember that patience would always pay off. He never seemed frustrated that Minerva doubted his reasons for her little mission, nor was he disappointed that she occasionally faltered. Instead, he would smile, and ask her kindly to carry on as she had been, and inform him if something out of the ordinary came up. Now, what 'out of the ordinary' was for Tom Riddle seemed to be she hadn't quite figured out yet, but Minerva decided that by the time November hit, she was bound to fully understand what made the man tick.

She had sort of hoped Albus would give her more clues to figure out the enigma that was Tom Riddle. However, as the two strolled down the hallway toward the staff room on that Friday night, two days after her birthday, he seemed as unreadable as ever.

"He certainly isn't as insufferable as before," Minerva explained quietly as they walked side-by-side. It was drawing close to eleven thirty at this point, and she had spent the evening running her sixth year exam rubric over with Albus, who was kind enough to give her a few suggestions for changes. After all, he had taught the class for more years than anyone might suspect; he was definitely the one to run to for advice. "However, I'm not sure what you want me to find out, Albus."

"Now, Minerva," he chastised. "You know I can't give you anything like that… If I tell you what to look for specifically, that's all you'll see when you look at the man."

"I suppose."

"Trust your instinct," Albus urged as they rounded a corner. "I know that when you get a feeling that something is wrong, you'll act appropriately. For now, keep him on his toes."

"I'm trying my best," Minerva told him as she fiddled with the cuffed sleeve of her dress. For once, she opted to steer clear of those long sleeves that were so in-style with elegant witches these days. "He seems to know how to stay within the lines. He's very clever."

"More than clever, I'm afraid," Albus insisted, taking her hand away from her wrist to clasp it, giving it a little squeeze. "I have faith you'll catch him, Minerva. Don't forget that."

She gave him a weak smile, "Thank you."

With that, he released her hand and nodded toward the staff room, "I need to pick up the letters I was addressing in the staff room… Peeves managed to distract me enough this afternoon to make me forget them in there."

"He does seem to do that, doesn't he?" Minerva groaned, rolling her eyes. "I don't see why you can't permanently remove him."

"Oh, I could," he chuckled, "but I think we would be missing a little something around the castle if he was gone for good."

"Hardly."

"Peeves will prove his worth one day," the man said happily, "I promise."

When pigs grew wings Peeves the Poltergeist would ever prove his worth. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, and merely shot him a sceptical look. He only smiled in return, "We'll pop in quickly, grab my letters, and then I'll walk you to your room."

"So chivalrous, Albus," Minerva chuckled as they neared the rounded door to the staff room. He gripped the copper knob and pulled it open for her, bowing a little in the process. Shaking her head, Minerva slipped down the thin corridor and stepped into the dimly lit room. It was a fairly large room, much larger than one would have guessed walking down the initial corridor, with a large, long table in the centre, many plush chairs around it, a small wine cabinet at the back (for extra tough days), and couches ranging in firmness along the outer walls. Torches kept the room alit around the clock, as there were no windows to be seen.

The second she stepped into it, something internally felt off. The only reason she noticed it was because the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up, and she looked around the darkened room quickly. Suddenly, the torches illuminated brilliantly, revealing the entire staff team – well, most of them anyway – standing in the corners, glasses in hand, and she stumbled back as they toasted her noisily for her birthday. Minerva turned around quickly, shooting a venomous glare at her mentor, who merely beamed pleasantly in response. Her eye twitched threateningly, and she faced her colleagues with slightly reddened cheeks.

"But… But my birthday was on Wednesday," she stammered weakly. There were a few chuckles all around, and as her eyes bounced from person to person, she couldn't help but notice a few had started the celebrations early with a few drinks.

"Well, Dumbledore said you wouldn't be happy with a part then," Pomona told her, taking charge of the situation and flicking her wand at the table. Plates pulled themselves out of a nearby cupboard and arranged neatly, and Hagrid stumbled forward from the crowd with a rather large cake in his hands. From the quality of it, she suspected he might have baked it himself. The house elves usually had a little more finesse. Her eyes narrowed on her second closest friend, and Pomona giggled happily, "And we know you don't really like to celebrate your birthday, but you can think of it as an excuse for us all to let off a little steam… It's been a rough first month."

"Here, here!" Horace beamed, raising his glass, "Let us toast to Minerva McGonagall, who may not like her birthday, but we like it just fine if it means we can break out the elvish wine."

"Cheers!"

Someone else summoned the liquor from the cabinet at the back, and Minerva folded her arms over her chest as she watched bottles line up neatly along the table. Now she knew why they hadn't done anything on Wednesday night… They all wanted to drink a little, and then have a nice rest on a Saturday morning, rather than getting up to teach on the Thursday. Clever sods, her colleagues.

"They did genuinely want to celebrate your birthday," Albus said in her ear, "but I implored them to respect how you feel about it… They did, but I think they're using it as a bit of an excuse to relax."

"I understand," she told him, giving him a quick little smile. "Thank you for keeping them at bay."

"So you aren't too cross with me?"

"Never."

"Excellent," he mused, adjusting his half-moon glasses, eyes narrowing in on the rather exotic looking cake on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Hagrid has been baking all day, and it seems no one is quite as tempted as I am to get the first piece."

"I'm sure you'll have little competition," Minerva whispered as he passed, noting the way Hagrid's face lit up as Dumbledore approached him inquiring about the cake. She smiled at those that wished her a happy belated, and accepted a glass of red wine from Pomona before the woman spirited off to have a conversation with Horace and Rolanda. Their little affair, as far as Minerva understood, was still in bloom at this point, and she almost wondered if her little friend was starting to develop odd feelings for the man. It wasn't something they discussed outright, as Pomona was quite shy over the issue, and Minerva wasn't one to press for information.

Taking a small sip of her wine, very much intent on only having one glass before retiring for the evening, she sauntered toward the table and noticed a small gift. The only reason she could tell it was a gift came from the rather reflective gold wrapping. With a hint of a frown on her lips, she set her wine glass down and carefully picked up the package. It didn't have her name on it, but who else could it be for? Looking around the room, she tried to see if anyone was watching her. Pomona, Horace, Hooch and now Albus were in a conversation together, Hagrid was cutting more cake for Poppy, and even Tom had his back to her by the liquor cabinet, filling a small glass with something. With no one watching her, she couldn't quite decide who sent it. With a slight shrug, she tentatively opened the packaging and discovered it was a book. She turned it over and then set the used wrapping paper on the table, and read the title.

_Duelling for Beginners _by Gwendolyn Hopkirk. Her eyes narrowed at the childish font at the two wands on the cover goofily fencing one another. It certainly didn't take a genius to figure out who might have gotten that for her birthday. She stalked across the room toward Tom Riddle, who had just taken a seat on the couch by himself, and stood directly in front of him, book held up. He leaned forward a touch to examine it, and then settled back into the couch, grinning at her.

"This is hardly an appropriate gift, Riddle," she snapped, more embarrassed by it than anything. Well, also a little infuriated that he wanted to keep gloating about his win in the duelling club, even though it had happened a few weeks ago at this point.

"Oh, Minerva," he sighed, shaking his head. "Still a grump, even on your birthday."

"My birthday was on Wednesday."

Tom rolled his eyes and then patted the spot next to him with his hand. Minerva glanced over her shoulder. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention. At this point, it seemed more people were interested in Hagrid's cake, shockingly, than what the supposed birthday girl was doing at her own party. She sat next to him with a huff, keeping a comfortable distance between her body and his, and held his book on her lap, hands gripping it a little too tightly.

"It's a joke, Minerva."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped, looking at him sharply. The woman shifted away a little as he placed an arm along the top of the couch, his fingers stopping just behind her head, and faced his body toward hers. She stiffened, automatically uncomfortable.

"The book," Tom explained, nodding toward it. "It's a joke… a gag gift. It's not what I actually got you for your birthday. I thought you'd be able to laugh it off at this point."

She gawked at him for a moment, looked down at the book, and then back at him, "You… You actually bought me a present… in seriousness?"

Not even Pomona had purchased a present for her. Dumbledore had, of course, but that was expected.

"I did," Tom admitted with a smirk. "It's sitting on your desk… I got you a briefcase that doubles as a file divider. You always carry that mess of paper with you wherever you go. This way, you're more organized."

She continued to stare at him in disbelief, almost trying to gage whether he was serious or not. He merely blinked at her, a little less refined than normal, and downed the rest of his drink. She caught a whiff of it, and wrinkled her nose; scotch. He seemed so much more relaxed than she had ever seen him, and at that moment she realized the change in everything about him – posture, demeanour, tone of voice – probably added up to the fact that he, and the rest of the staff, had been drinking before she arrived. Was he… was he drunk? The very thought of it actually baffled her.

Clearing her throat, she forced a smile, "Thank you, Tom. That was… very thoughtful of you. A very practical gift."

"I thought everyone was into buying presents," he admitted, dropping his glass to the floor by his feet. It seemed by mere luck alone that it didn't shatter. "The way they were all giddy and excited for tonight, I assumed it was a big deal. However, I don't think anyone else got you something."

"Aside from Albus."

"Ah yes, of course."

Suddenly, she realized something, "Wait a minute. You… you said your gift is on my desk?"

"Put it there a half an hour ago."

"My office has been locked since six this evening," she argued, her gaze hardening on him. He merely smiled and his head lolled back onto the couch.

"Perhaps you should lock your office a little better, Minerva."

"Stay out of my office, Riddle," she warned.

"Only if you promise to do the same," he fired back, rolling his head to face her, eyes coming square to hers. She looked away, mind racing. Did he know that she had broken in? Was he aware that she snooped through his office as an animagus? If he was, there wasn't anything in his expression that suggested it. Instead, he suddenly pushed himself off the couch and lurched forward a hint, suddenly off balance.

"I think another scotch will do me," he slurred quietly. A moment later, Minerva was on her feet, steadying him by holding his arm firmly with both hands.

"It seems you've had enough," the woman insisted firmly, struggling a little when he started to lean on her. Once again, no one seemed to be paying them any attention, and she suddenly wondered if anyone else was as far gone as Tom seemed to be. However, he seemed present enough to realize that he didn't need any more alcohol, and nodded.

"Yes, maybe you're right," Riddle agreed. "I'll just… go to bed, I think."

"A good idea," Minerva told him. "You don't want to embarrass yourself this early in the night."

If he was this way at three or four in the morning, when Albus and Horace were usually happily singing rounds from their respective spots on the couches… well, that would have been a different story. At this point, it was a little too early for him to be too drunk. They were both already the youngest professors on staff, and therefore it was automatically assumed they could not hold their liquor, despite being thirty years old.

"Why don't I help you back to your room?" she suggested, knowing it was nearby. He made some pathetic attempt to untangle himself from her, but she slipped an arm securely around his midsection to keep him in place.

"But it's your party-"

"It's everyone's party," she droned, rolling her eyes as she started toward the door. "I don't care about my birthday, and I suspect they don't really either. I think everyone just needs to relax for a night."

"Mmm, I think they are."

"Indeed," she muttered, her stiff opinion of him altering only a fraction. So he wasn't without faults. He was still susceptible to drinking too much, just like every other normal person. The man wasn't completely without his previous problems, mind you. He was still shrewd, a little harsh to his students, and apparently delighted in making her squirm, based on the gag gift. However, after seeing him stumble around the staff room, and grin goofily at the professors who wished him a pleasant sleep, she felt her intolerance for the man decrease for a fraction.

Had Minerva been paying complete attention to Tom, and not been lost in her world of thoughts about him, she would have noticed something in his eyes. A cruel look flashed across them, and he glanced over his shoulder at Albus for the briefest of moments. He gave the man a completely sober smile before turning his attention back to her as they departed from the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Oh Tom. You aren't drunk at all, are you? Devious. I also figured that if he actually got her a gift, it would totally be something useful and practical. The gag gift was just to rub in his win, I think, but I don't see him as completely immune to traditions. Maybe not at this point, anyway. When he's all reborn snake!Voldemort, I don't think he could really give a fuck about anything as ridiculous as a birthday celebration. **

**Also. HAGRID YOU ARE CUTE. I actually smiled at the thought of him baking a cake for Minerva. He always did seem to have a soft spot for her.**

**Anyway. I'm off for a holiday for the next week, so no updates until I get back! I was tempted to bring my laptop so I could write on my spare time, but I said NO firmly… to myself. My wrists and muse will need the break so they can come back refreshed. I think the chapter will be a Voldemort POV. Mwaha. Let him explain his actions. **

**Also, I was in a bit of a rush to post this before work this morning. Therefore, I apologize for any glaring errors, but I wanted to get it out before I left and didn't give it the thorough read I usually do before posting. **

**LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE! **


	11. You think you're loving

Voldemort smiled. It was something he so rarely did that it actually felt strange on his face. Now, it wasn't as though his face was in a continuous negative state. No, he smirked, grinned and leered at random over the course of the day. However, it took a lot to make him really want to smile. As he watched his two star pupils duel in his office that night, two weeks into October, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly proud at their progress. The fact that these two were the ones that stood out the most, both in his classes _and_ in his duelling club came as a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one if anything. Both were Slytherins, which shouldn't shock anyone, but Voldemort had never expected a girl to be a standout. She was a seventeen year old blonde, vivacious and confident in every class he taught. Evelyn Quinn Cross hailed from a devout pureblood family in Northern Ireland. She insisted on duelling every time he had a club gathering, and nine times out of ten she was either the winner or a close second by the end of the night. Her usual competition came from Drake O'Dwyer, a Slytherin sixth year with a short stature and a fairly unattractive outer appearance. They were physical opposites, but Voldemort picked up on their sameness on the inside right away.

The main reason why his former house tended to win the duelling competition was because they were willing to be as underhanded as the rulebook allowed. They were infuriatingly devious, and Voldemort saw the frustration on the faces of their competitors whenever there was a night where the snakes dominated. For some time, he noticed it was the competition between individuals that fuelled his duelling clubs. However, as October rolled along, the other three houses gossiped about potential cheating by the Slytherin house. All of a sudden, the duelling club shared the same heated competition that Quidditch matches brought between the houses. Despite the tension it caused with his students, his peers thought it was brilliant how involved he was with them, and how enthusiastic the program had made the Hogwarts pupils about learning and developing their personal skills.

Ever since Voldemort's "drunken" episode at Minerva's birthday bash, everyone on the staff team had been much warmer toward him. That had been his intention with the incident, and he returned their friendly smiles with secretly smug grins. Because he was the one who had gotten too drunk too early at the party, Voldemort was no longer the invincible newcomer that they all saw him as. He was less unapproachable when they saw that "flaw" he orchestrated for them, and that was the way he wanted it to be. Although he preferred the untouchable vibe he had carefully concocted in September, he quickly realized that if he ever wanted anything from anyone else on the staff, he would have a difficult time doing it if they felt uneasy around him. For now, he decided it would be better to be seen as the slightly asocial new guy who couldn't really hold his alcohol. It was a little better than the continuously asocial new guy who hated everyone and wouldn't tolerate anything unless it was work related. He didn't want friends, but he also didn't want the few adults in this castle to be so turned off by a poor attitude that he needed to work harder to use them when necessary.

Getting them on his side may have been a little extra work now, and certainly not what he wanted, but he knew it was for the best later down the line. At some point, he would need to approach a fellow professor, and if he wasn't as intimidating as before, it wouldn't take as much work to wriggle something out of them. This applied, for the most part, toward Minerva McGonagall. She had endured the full blast of his drunken episode on the night of her birthday party. Hell, she had actually gone so far as to remove his coat and shoes before setting him in bed, as if he was a child. While she might have had a sour attitude on her face while she helped him, it paid off over the next few days. She had actually skipped one of her lessons that she was supposed to monitor! He wasn't sure if it was because she had been busy with her own life in the castle (being a professor was actually much more time consuming than he previously expected), or perhaps Minerva decided he was less harmless after she had seen him drunk, but she just didn't show up. It was actually a little liberating to not have her sitting at the back of the room, watching her from over her own Defense syllabus. He didn't venture too far from the course material, but he added more snide comments toward the administration and the Ministry in his lectures than he would have if she had been there.

Naturally, the woman was back for her next scheduled lecture with him, monitoring the same as she always did. That one lesson she missed, however, gave him hope that his good behaviour and his recent display of weakness might be breaking her down a little. Only time would tell, but her would like to think that by November, he would have her questioning whatever Dumbledore told her about Tom Riddle. This was a bit of a lofty goal, to be honest. He had watched the pair over the course of his time at Hogwarts, and he saw how exceptionally close they were. Any idiot might assume it was a romantic relationship brewing in private, but Voldemort was anything but an idiot. He never saw the obvious in people. Albus and Minerva had a paternalistic relationship, if anything, and he saw her as Dumbledore's lieutenant in the castle. Despite having better and older alternatives to pick from, Dumbledore chose her. There had to be something special about this woman if Albus put his faith in her. For now, Voldemort had yet to see the appeal. She was physically attractive enough, but certainly Dumbledore wouldn't use her for looks alone. He wasn't a man of the times, this wizard. She was intelligent, short with her students, and held her own with Voldemort every chance he gave her. The woman was a frustrating enemy, but he could see her as a useful ally when the time came.

Currently, it was not the time. Right now, Voldemort focused on forcing himself onto good terms with the woman, if only to get her off his back just a little bit. He was succeeding, or so he'd like to think, but progress was slow. It was an ongoing project, if anything. That little project was coupled with his transformation of the student body into useable soldiers for his cause once they were finished with school. At the moment, he lounged in his office chair, completely at attention, yet relaxed, as if the duel before him meant nothing.

This was the third time he had Evelyn and Drake together, but Evelyn had worked with him privately on almost eight separate occasions since the start of term. She was an exceptionally talented young witch in the subjects she cared about, which included his lessons, Minerva's class, and her charms work. However, things like Herbology and Potions were among some of her lower marks, which meant she wouldn't be on anyone's radar as a star student. While this was a detriment to her and her future, it was perfect for Voldemort. She excelled with every correction he gave her, and he saw her holding back in the public duels with every private teaching he gave her. She never wanted to completely annihilate her opponent even though at this point Voldemort was sure she could have. Drake progressed just as well as she did, though he was a touch weaker in his wandwork. Naturally, he was younger, and still had a year or so of catching up to do to be at her level. In time, they would both be ready.

His smile grew as Evelyn managed to disarm Drake completely, and before he could call the duel, the girl turned her opponent into a rather large slug. He pursed his lips, and then decided it was acceptable as long as it didn't leave a mess on his carpet.

"Excellent charm, Evelyn," he purred, leaning forward to examine Drake's new appearance curiously, "a very adequately transformed slug."

"Adequate?" she repeated, her eyebrows shooting up. "What's wrong with him?"

"There's nothing wrong with the word adequate," Voldemort remarked sharply, a grin still on his face. "Satisfactory is also a word that you all seem to have a problem with… You cannot think that turning him into a slug was a highly original finale to the duel. Therefore, I call it adequate."

She frowned a little, and then shifted her weight to one leg, her hip cocked out as she crossed her arms, "I guess."

"Learning to accept praise is an admirable quality, Evelyn," he told her as he pointed his wand at Drake and turned him back into a person. He wanted to let him stay like that a little longer, to teach him that humiliation came with defeat, but he needed to get them out sooner than he liked. Unfortunately, exams ran during this week and the next for everyone in the castle, and he had a lot to mark before the weekend.

"I almost had her!" Drake protested as he picked himself up, dusting off some slime residue distastefully, "You got lucky this time around, Cross."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Voldemort argued softly, silencing both pupils before some juvenile argument broke out. "Evelyn managed to catch you when you lowered your wand on the defensive spell… You were too slow to make your shield, and she took advantage of your weakness. Consider it a lesson learned."

"Yes, sir," the boy grumbled sullenly, his eyes cast down. "I'll do better next time."

"There will only be a next time if you keep winning your duels," Voldemort said decidedly, which made Evelyn smirk. "Both of you get my attention because you perform so remarkably… Quite ahead in your studies compared to your peers. I hope it will stay that way."

"Of course," Evelyn said, shooting a look at Drake. "I don't know why either of us would purposefully lose. Your lessons are too valuable."

That was what he wanted to hear. He leaned back in his chair with a nod and then waved absently at the door, "Good. The duel was average tonight, and I will write up my thoughts for both of you and my recommendations for future spell usage now. I'll give them out in your next lessons. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Drake said before he departed, no doubt eager to avoid the location of his defeat for a few days. He wasn't sure if the two were friends outside of his little lessons, but from what he remembered of the Slytherin house, most suffered for their shortcomings once they stepped into the Common Room. His eyes drifted toward Evelyn as she moved toward the door without saying anything. However, instead of stepping out, she shut the door behind Drake, leaving her and Voldemort alone in his office.

"Was there something else you wish to discuss, Evelyn?" Voldemort inquired as he shuffled some papers around on his desk. He then retrieved the first stack of second year exams he needed to correct and set them out in front of him, a clear sign he had other priorities for the evening.

"I just wanted to tell you how appreciative I am of all your lessons," she told him, her hands clasped behind her back as she sauntered toward him. "No other professor has ever taken such an interest in me."

"You are a talented young witch," Voldemort praised half-heartedly, quill in hand as he skimmed the first set of multiple choice answers on an exam paper, crossing out two that were wrong. "I feel it necessary to ensure your talents flourish before you graduate."

If she was looking for more compliments, she would be looking for some time. While he acknowledged her skill, she was still in the elementary level compared to some of his Death Eaters. She was an excellent pupil within these walls, but outside he was sure his followers could have her on the ground screaming in a matter of minutes. Besides, Voldemort was not the type of person to give praise so willingly. When he did, it remained in short supply until the next time the individual in question did something profound enough to earn his attention.

"I was thinking…" she started, stopping so that she was pressed directly against the front of his desk. His eyes flickered up slightly, and he frowned. "There might be some way I could repay you for all your… extra attention these past few weeks."

He stopped writing mid-word when he realized she had leaned down on his desk, resting her head on her hands coquettishly. If he wanted to, he knew there was an opportunity to look down the slightly unbuttoned top of her shirt, but he kept his eyes on the paper for a moment before he met her gaze. Hers was warm, inviting, and it took a mere second in her mind to know what she wanted. Although he knew what was coming, he said nothing and merely arched an eyebrow in response. Taking that as the go ahead, she leaned forward, her eyelids half-closed in what he perceived as an attempt to be seductive, and then reached out to touch him. That was a step too far, and he managed to catch her by the wrist.

"Miss Cross," he whispered, "I'm sure you are aware that this is highly inappropriate behaviour."

Her lips peeled back in a feral grin, and ignoring his tone, she continued to move forward. To his credit, he wasn't the slightest bit interested in her. Some men would be jumping at the chance to get a little action with a pretty young thing, especially when the prospects were limited in a professional environment like Hogwarts. However, Voldemort had no intention of doing _anything_ with a student, nor was he particularly keen on women over ten years his junior. Women, in general, didn't exactly catch his attention romantically. It wasn't as though he was interested in men by any means, but women brought too much emotion into a relationship, and that emotion was something he could neither understand nor have the patience to deal with.

However, this was clearly nothing to do with romance. If anything, Evelyn thought this was the way to get ahead, and coming from a pureblood family, it didn't exactly surprise him. Few women from completely traditional backgrounds became much more after school than a wife or mistress. Times were changing, yes, and Voldemort welcomed the change – an able body was an able body, regardless of gender – but times changed slowly in the 1950s. For now, this girl knew nothing more than to use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted from a man, and he decided to let her think she had him hooked. By doing so, he had her.

With her slim wrist still clasped in one hand, he caught her by the chin with the other, and she nearly lost her balance as she basically sprawled across his desk. She fluttered her lashes, making him tighten his grip on her.

"Let me be clear with you," Voldemort hissed, careful to keep his tone friendlier than he was feeling. "I have much to teach you still. We will work together all year, and by the end, you'll be excellent, not adequate."

Her cheeks flushed as he pulled her a little closer, "And you can repay me for my time when you are no longer my student. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she breathed, her eyes darting between his and his lips. Smirking only slightly, he released her with a bit of a shove, and then nodded dismissively toward the door.

"Come back on Saturday evening at seven… I'll teach you the finesse of my favourite Unforgivable."

"Thank you."

Voldemort nodded again, "Now… Out you go."

And with that, he resumed correcting the exam in front of him, not giving Evelyn the slightest bit of attention until she was nearly out of his office. He smiled again. He always did when he lured another one of them in.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I think love is interesting to write with Voldemort. I don't think he understands what love is in the slightest, and as the consequence of a love potion gone wrong, it's obvious why. However, I think that's a fun dynamic to play with, and the brief line about him not understanding it seems the best way to describe it. He doesn't get it and I don't think he cares about it. Now, that being said, it'll be interesting to swing this into a romance, but I think there are ways of making it work. **

**Now, I wanted to write a teacher-student dynamic for two reasons. A) It's a way for Voldemort to woo in a girl that could be useful later. B) After my few years in the RPG world, I **_**hated**_** seeing this kind of romance. It wouldn't happen at Hogwarts. NO ONE would be slick enough to make it work. Maybe an attraction or a flirtation, but it just wouldn't happen. Ergo, Voldemort rejects her as a bit of my rejection to that period of roleplaying. It just bothered me. And, you know, he rejected her for obvious other reasons, but there's definitely a little bit of me in there. I can let AU relationships slide in some fanfics, I think, but when it comes to roleplaying, I was a bit less lenient. Maybe I'm too much of stickler for these things. **

**Also, I'll let you decide what Voldemort's favourite Unforgivable Curse is. For fun. And I actually missed Minerva in this chapter. She'll be back, like a total boss, in the following one. **

**It's a shorter chapter than usual, but I thought it worked with its length. MUCH LOVE TO EVERYONE, and thank you for the brilliant reviews!**


	12. But you don't love me

Minerva used to enjoy exams. She would never admit it out loud, mostly because her friends already thought she belonged in Ravenclaw when she was in school, but she genuinely liked the examination period. Everyone gathered together, shared panic and stress, and a chance to really show off just how well they had learned the course material… What more could a young intellectual want? Minerva thrived on the fear and the anticipation. Her legs jiggled eagerly as she sat in the examination room, eyes on the proctor as they handed out the fresh packets of paper. She couldn't wait to see what she had to answer. Fully confident in her abilities, Minerva entered each examination chamber with her shoulders back, and except for the rare occasion, left with a pleased stride. There were a few others who shared her enthusiasm for the bi-term examination periods, but the majority of her friends did not fit in that group. It could sometimes be a lonely period, but it ended in two weeks, and soon they were all back to their usual routine.

As a professor, she found herself not quite looking forward to the examination period as much anymore. It was a lot of preparation for her students and herself; she needed to have the assigned subjects taught effectively come October _and_ have the exams made before under the assumptions that she would get through the subject material. Her poor students obviously had a mountain of paperwork and rough notes to go through if they wanted to pass. Minerva had a reputation of giving especially difficult exams in comparison to some other professors. She wasn't the only one; Sinistra gave rough astronomy exams and Minerva decided that Arithmancy was always a challenging subject to do well on. However, she saw no reason to give leniency. Unfortunately, the harder she made her exams, which generally consisted of two essays and many short answer problems, the more work she had to do in the aftermath. Professors were given a week to get everything corrected, and Minerva decided this was the time she suffered the most. After all, she still had to teach her usual lessons for the week, monitor Riddle, and then mark seven levels worth of midterm exams before the week was out. She was up until nearly three in the morning every day, and then awake a mere four hours later to start it all over again. Minerva could certainly handle it, but she was starting to feel the strain come Thursday.

Thursday saw her nearly finished with all years except for third and sixth. They were the shortest exams to complete, and she decided to leave those for last. They had the fewest short answer questions, and the students here had an option of one essay of two, which made it a little easier for everyone. Now, her lessons may have suffered a little because of her weariness, but she was sure to throw herself completely into monitoring Riddle. One of her students told her – Prewett, a boy she asked to watch Professor Riddle on the sly the day she missed one of his lessons – that Riddle seemed much more cynical toward the Ministry when she wasn't around. Apparently, he also made some references to dark magic near the end of his lecture, though he quickly changed the subject when Prewett started taking detailed notes. The only reason she had been absent for that one day was because a first year ended up vomiting all over her classroom the period before, and she saw it as her duty to ensure she was all right in the hospital with Madame Pomfrey. Not that she didn't trust the nurse, but the little girl – coincidentally, the very same that sneezed on Riddle during the Opening Ceremonies – seemed much more at ease with her there.

A bit tiring, yes, but it was a judgement call she had no problems with at the time. It was only a few days after Riddle's drunken episode at her party. After that, she decided he really was a little more harmless than Albus made him out to be. Yes, there was something about him that she didn't trust, and she had no intentions of backing off completely. However, as she helped him out of his shoes that night, Tom drunkenly babbling about the mess of his bed chambers, Minerva figured she had something embarrassing to hold over him, if anything. However, when she heard that he changed his lecturing tactics when she wasn't around, even for just a moment, her suspicions came back full throttle. Afterward, she made sure to attend every lecture and listen astutely.

Unfortunately, nothing concrete came from her snooping; he watched his content during classes, kept his office locked for any cat intruders, and seemed oddly pleasant with all the professors whenever she saw him around others. It was like he had made a complete turnaround with them, but she wasn't wholly convinced. He may have been smiling, but the expression certainly didn't reach his eyes. There were no wrinkles, no mirth in his orbs. She saw a lot of boredom, irritation, and some frustration when she studied him from afar, but his body language expressed something different. The Hogwarts staff was filled with bright, competent witches and wizards. However, when you spend your day surrounded by preteens and teens, one does start to long for adult company. Therefore, she was sure her friends noticed Tom's somewhat forced expression too, but were willing to ignore it for the possibility of having another adult to be friendly with around the castle.

If Dumbledore had put all of them on the watch, perhaps they wouldn't have been so lenient with the man. Minerva certainly had no intention of doing so, even if she had to put him to bed drunk again. Pomona certainly gave him more of a chance than Minerva, but she would. After all, the woman was Helga Hufflepuff reincarnated; of course she would give Tom more chances than none.

"I don't know, there's just something a little off about him," Minerva told her friend as they quietly strolled the hallways. It was dusk, and Minerva was on her way back from dinner to tuck into a night of marking. With a little luck, she would be able to finish the majority of her third year exams by the wee hours of the morning.

"Well, naturally there is," Pomona giggled, giving her a little nudge. "We're all odd here, Minerva. Every last one of us has something off about us… Why else do you think we teach?"

"We teach because we love to, and we're good at it," she replied, shooting her friend a look.

"That too, I suppose," the little witch mused, "but I suspect we teach here, with all these children, because some of us lack the social graces to make it in the real world. We do better here, where it's safe and comfortable. Perhaps that is what happened with Riddle."

"What do you mean?"

"He came here so cold and distant, but I've noticed him thawing slowly," Pomona explained, pausing to adjust a crooked picture frame. The occupant thanked her politely, to which she nodded, and then carried on. "It takes an adjustment period here, as it does anywhere. We're all a little more reserved when we first begin… but with our first party come and gone, I think he saw we really aren't that frightening."

"I don't think he ever found us frightening," Minerva scoffed, rolling her eyes a little at the naïve notion. "There's something off about him as a person."

"There's something off about _you_ too, Minerva," Pomona laughed. "You're stern, a little reserved, cold, yet one of the kindest women I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You're intelligent but modest, and I think you pose more of a conundrum to some people than our Mr. Riddle does. He doesn't seem quite as layered as you… Something to think about when you wish to cast judgment."

She stopped walking and stared at her friend, a slight look of bewilderment on her face, "Pomona… I think… aside from the blatant negative observations of my character, that might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

"Doubt it," her friend giggled again, slipping her plump arm around Minerva's thin one and urging her forward, "but you're welcome. All that aside, I do think Tom has some peculiarities."

"Thank you!" Minerva sighed, throwing her free arm up in exasperation, "I knew I couldn't be the only one."

"I heard some girls gossiping that he went into Myrtle's bathroom today," Pomona told her. "He shooed the ghost out, and she came whining to the nearest person she could find!"

Minerva stopped again, her face changing to something a little more serious, "When was this?"

"Oh, just before I caught you coming out from dinner, I suppose," Pomona replied, glancing at her elegant green wristwatch. "Maybe twenty minutes ago-"

"I forgot my notebook in the Great Hall," Minerva said suddenly, lying through her teeth. "Why don't you carry on, and I'll meet you in the staff room?"

"I… I suppose," Pomona hesitated. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly fine… I can't get much done without my book though," Minerva explained as she backed away from her. "Ten minutes! I won't be long!"

She turned on her heel without waiting for her friend's response, and quickly darted down the hallway. Myrtle's toilet wasn't too far off, and if she hurried, she might be able to catch him. She _knew_ he was doing something shady in there! Why else would he be back in there? He couldn't use that ridiculous excuse with her again, because she wasn't going to let it slide. This time she would bring him straight to Albus, and surely the headmaster could get a straight answer from the man.

She slowed her pace just short of the doorway, her footsteps echoing in the vacant hallway. Glancing over her shoulder, she ensured there were no students around, in case something horrible occurred when she discovered him. Once she was satisfied that many were either still at supper, or off to their houses for the evening, she leaned against the wall just next to the door, slowing her breathing completely to listen to the inside of the bathroom. She stood still for quite some time, waiting for any sign of movement inside. After a good five minutes or so, she wondered if he had only popped in quickly. A momentarily horrifying thought was that he was lurking on the other side of the wall, listening for her. He certainly didn't scare her, but the thought gave her chills all the same.

Digging her wand out from its holster in her sleeve, she removed her hat and set it on the floor. It would probably only get in the way if there was some kind of altercation. Suddenly, she heard what sounded like stone rubbing on stone, as if a statue was being slid across the floor. It was out of place, and Minerva took it as a sign that Tom Riddle was up to no good. Wand gripped firmly in hand, she charged into the lavatory, and came to an abrupt halt. Riddle stood in front of her, a little dusty with soaking wet shoes, as the circular sinks slid back into place behind him. He seemed momentarily stunned to see her, but half a second later he too had his wand raised, matching hers.

"What are you doing?" she growled, nodding back to the sinks as they settled. He shook his head at her.

"We could really be friends, Minerva," Tom insisted, "but you have this awful habit of snooping, and it's starting to really get on my nerves."

"I'm going to ask you again-"

"Don't you want to be friends, Minerva?" he sneered, "Don't you want to be friends with me like everyone else?"

"If you won't give me a straight answer, we'll take this up with Dumbledore," Minerva threatened, her voice calm and even. The man stared at her blankly in return, his lip twitching only a hint.

"And what makes you think I'll let you walk me on up to Albus?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low. "We both know you can't force me."

"Then perhaps I'll bring him to you," she decided, taking a few steps back. "Unless you plan to flee into the night, you'll have to face him sometime. I know you're up to something in here, and clearly I'm not the one to get it out of you."

"Now, Minerva…"

She turned away from him and marched toward the entrance. A moment later she heard him running after her, and she started to run, hampered slightly by her thick skirts. Before she could reach the door, Riddle grabbed hold of her lengthy braided hair and dragged her backward with surprising force. Minerva cried out a little in shock, but managed to find her footing quickly. She took a deep breath, ready to scream for help, but Riddle was faster.

"Silencio!" he shouted, removing her voice completely with a flick of his wand. She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to produce anything of substance, and fumbled so uselessly that he managed to summon her wand to him before she had the chance to properly retaliate.

"You are so… persistent," Riddle stated, throwing her wand to the side while keeping his own on her. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, mind racing with ideas for an escape route, but finding shockingly few plausible solutions. "Don't worry, I know you aren't completely responsible for your nosiness… I suspect some comes from you, but the orders really come from a higher power. I understand, Minerva, but that doesn't mean I forgive."

Her eyes narrowed at him, and she decided it was time to keep her focus on him. All that looking around might have given the impression she was panicking, and she couldn't have that. She wouldn't let him think he was winning this. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the case, but Minerva knew she was logical enough to think her way out of this. He may have had the upper hand physically, but she was sure there was something she could do…

"Crucio!"

It came so quickly and powerfully that Minerva crumbled to the ground, screaming soundlessly as pain ripped apart her insides. She arched her back and rolled on the stone floor of the lavatory, eyes watering. Never had she endured the curse before. It was complete and utter agony. When he finally stopped, her body shuddered at the sensations, and she curled up in a crumpled mess on the floor, attempting to shield herself from another attack. It was horribly painful to move, and she watched as Riddle sauntered back to the entrance and slowly shut the door, bolting it noisily.

She couldn't believe it, but Dumbledore was one hundred percent correct about this man! There was no way he should be allowed to teach at Hogwarts… Hell, he shouldn't even be in contact with the general public!

Minerva made some pathetic attempt to crawl away from him when he returned to her, but it seemed hopeless. With her body unaccustomed to such monumental pain, nothing wanted to respond to her brain's attempts. So, she lay there on her back, breathing heavily as Tom Riddle crouched over her, a perplexed look on his face.

"It's a real pity I have to silence you," he murmured, looking her over once. "I'm sure you have a lovely scream."

"You're sick," she mouthed. He glared at her and grabbed her chin roughly, lifting her head a bit.

"You're constantly in the way, Minerva," he hissed. "Dumbledore's favourite… It won't do you much good in this world, I promise you that. I really ought to make you weep for your constant intrusions, but unfortunately I don't have the time."

She tried to tug her head away, and pushed at his hands lightly with hers. This was it. He was going to finish her. She was doing to die for Dumbledore. At the moment, she didn't even know how to feel. It was surprising, but she felt nothing aside from a strong will to endure. It meant she was willing to suffer, but not ready to die. Not yet.

"I'm sorry I can't let you remember," Riddle whispered, a devilish look in his eye. "It would certainly save me the trouble somewhere down the line… but I can't have you running to dear Dumbledore just yet."

Blinking back her shock, she watched as he stood up and lowered his wand to her, hissing the stunning spell before she had the chance to move.

* * *

><p>When Minerva awoke, she was no longer on the floor of Myrtle's lavatory. Instead, she was wrapped in thick blankets in the Hospital Wing with the kind blue eyes of Poppy Pomfrey staring back into hers.<p>

"How are you feeling, Minerva?" she inquired, moving her finger back and forth in front of her eyes. "Can you follow my finger for me?"

"I'm… I'm fine," the woman insisted, "but my head feels terrible."

"You knocked it when you fell," the head nurse explained with a sigh. "You really ought to be a little more careful, Minerva. You're lucky to get away with a very mild concussion. It could have been more serious."

She stared at the woman, and then sat up in bed. Her entire body ached, making her wince, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what had caused it. The last thing she could recall was talking with Pomona on the way toward the staff room, and then ducking off to the girls' lavatories to see if she could catch Riddle. Afterward, everything was a hazy blur.

"I don't know… what happened," she said slowly. "Where did I fall?"

"Riddle said he found you in the lavatory near a water puddle," Pomfrey explained. "You must have slipped and knocked your head."

"I don't remember that," Minerva insisted, suddenly feeling a little flustered. "I don't even remember being in the bathroom!"

"It can be common with hard falls," Pomfrey told her sternly. "You'll spend the night here so I can watch you. I've got a healing draught here for you and a pain potion should it be too difficult to sleep, plus a sleeping draught-"

"But I don't remember anything," she told her, her voice rising an octave or so. "If this is a mild head injury, surely I should remember-"

She hissed when she moved too quickly, her body protesting all of a sudden. The nurse clicked her tongue at her, as though she was a petulant little patient, and then smoothed down the bed comforter.

"It's no good panicking now," Pomfrey chided, stuffing a vial of dark blue liquid in her hand from the bedside table. "Drink that, and then I'm going to give you the pain potion, and then a sleeping one to send you off. You're all under so much stress lately… you aren't the first to visit me with some sort of injury this time of year. Always in a rush, and you all get a little careless."

Minerva McGonagall was certainly not careless. They both knew that, but she drank the potion anyway. The woman may have been young, but Poppy Pomfrey was not one to be argued with when it came to medical matters. She was fresh from St. Mungo's, the best of her year, and knew exactly what she was talking about whenever someone stumbled into her care. If she said some sort of amnesia was associated with a fall, Minerva was tempted to believe her.

"You say Riddle found me?" Minerva asked, the issue still not completely clear in her head. "Why was he in there?"

"Apparently a prefect found you on their rounds only an hour ago-"

"An hour ago!" Minerva repeated, "What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight," Poppy replied, "and probably a great deal earlier than anyone else is getting to bed with all your examinations. Take this."

She handed her back the empty vial after she downed the blue liquid, wrinkling her face only a touch as her mind rattled off the possibilities of the fall. She must have been knocked out for a few hours, as she remembered it being early evening when she and Sprout were chatting about Riddle. Why hadn't her friend come to look for her? She remembered informing the woman she would only be ten minutes. It was a bit of a lie, but Pomona should have assumed something was amiss when Minerva didn't show up at all. She also hated the fact that a student found her. It must have been so traumatizing for the poor soul who did.

"Now this one."

She accepted the pain potion absently, her eyes unfocused as she tried to piece together all that missed time. Something didn't fit. If her head injury was mild, she shouldn't have been unconscious for that long. Perhaps Poppy was sugar-coating it a little, but that would be uncharacteristic of her to do so. Tom Riddle had been in the bathroom. That was why she had gone down there. She remembered standing next to the lavatory, poised and ready to enter, but nothing after that. Had he really not been there, and she had fallen during her investigation?

"And this."

Minerva downed the final potion, and almost instantly a drowsy feeling took over her body and mind.

"Sleep will let you heal, and you'll be back to your chaotic schedule tomorrow," Poppy told her delicately as she urged Minerva to lay down, fluffing her pillow a little. "Not to fear, Minerva. It's not as bad as the pain makes you think it is."

It definitely wasn't the pain that concerned her. No… Her worries were somewhere else entirely.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Oh Tom. You complete and utter sadistic jerk. Thanks for all the awesome reviews! I'm le tired, so I apologize for any glaringly obvious mistakes I might miss on my quick edit before posting, and hope you enjoyed regardless! More to come – up next is Halloween! **


	13. I've been confused

Halloween. It wasn't exactly a holiday Minerva liked as a student, nor did she particularly care for it as an adult. The holiday stemmed from Muggle and magical traditions, and over the centuries blended into a fusion of the pair. Not that Minerva was against this, but she wasn't a fan of the Muggle aspects. They entailed dressing up like ghouls and creatures to keep the spirits at bay. The ghosts around Hogwarts told her they found the tradition a little ridiculous, but respected it as a tradition nonetheless. For witches and wizards of all ages, October 31st meant celebrating those departed and warding off any that might think to return and cause havoc with festivities. Pumpkins were carved, charms were cast, and everyone partook in a little merriment to congratulate those who had successfully crossed over. Originally, the Muggle and magical aspects of the night were kept separate. However, more and more young magical folk dressed up with each passing year, and turned it into more of a party than anything. When Minerva was a student back in the 1940s, the dressing up had only just begun at Hogwarts. Dippet turned out to be quite the Halloween enthusiast, much more than any of her professors, and started giving students a holiday on October 31st. That only last a year or two, as the board of governors for the school opposed it, but her former headmaster still saw to giving his pupils a party once their classes were finished.

Minerva had enjoyed all that. She liked the special dinner that the house elves prepared, and she was always a fan of the decorations strung up around the castle. However, she did not like that her peers dressed up and made blatant fools of themselves. People were usually too rowdy for a day that was barely a holiday in her eyes, and it was a little frustrating. Usually, she would sit and enjoy a lovely dinner with her friends, and then retire to her room for the night and avoid the mayhem that might take place at the school dance or in darkened classrooms with a bottle of stolen ale. It wasn't for her. She didn't mind a party if there was something worth celebrating. If she could have it her way, October 31st would have a feast and nothing more.

When she left Hogwarts, she was free to pick and choose what she wished to do on that day. Occasionally she might attend a party at the Ministry when she worked there, but usually she had a nice feast with her family and returned to her home in the Scottish Highlands. Her home was secluded enough that she didn't have to deal with growing portions of rowdy children with each passing year. Essentially, Minerva preferred to avoid the general public on Halloween entirely.

Unfortunately, now that she was a professor and therefore a public figure at Hogwarts, she couldn't become a hermit just because she disapproved of the frivolity that accompanied the day. Albus hadn't given the students a dance in the previous year, but there were several complaints from the older students who really enjoyed it while Dippet was headmaster. Therefore, the make up for his blunder, Dumbledore arranged for a dance to take place at nine that evening, and their curfew was extended until midnight to celebrate. Halloween that year fell on a Thursday, and Dumbledore informed his students before the start of that evening's feast that it was up to them to abide by their own personal curfew; there would be no tolerance for tardiness in Friday morning's classes because people stayed up too late.

After a brilliant feast, the students were shooed out of the Great Hall to allow the Hogwarts staff to transform it into something more suitable for the night's dance. It was a week after her supposed 'slip' in Myrtle's toilet after pursuing Tom Riddle. She felt perfectly fine, and had felt fine the moment she woke up after a good night's rest. Poppy was an excellent healer, and she had very little doubt in her mind that she would be perfectly healed come the following morning. The only issue that lingered was her lack of memory during the event. Poppy told her to give it some time, but even after a week, nothing came back to her about walking into the lavatory and slipping on a puddle. Why would there even be a puddle? No one ever used the toilet, and Myrtle wasn't one to make a mess of her surroundings, unless her mood soured considerably over the course of the day. Therefore, it seemed unlikely that she just happened to slip on a puddle. Minerva wasn't that careless.

She went to Albus immediately to assess the situation, and he seemed a little concerned with her story. However, he was much more concerned with her lack of memory, particularly to do with anything involving Tom Riddle. They spent the better portion of an evening trying to mend her memories, but in the end he decided that it might do her more harm than good if he proceeded. It was worrying when even Albus couldn't fix her distorted memory. They managed to bring up an image of the scene, but everything was hazy. The only thing either of them saw clearly was Minerva laying on the floor near a puddle of water. It matched Tom's story about finding her in the lavatory on the floor with a prefect, but it all seemed very suspicious.

Now, it wasn't like she let Riddle get away with anything. After spending all that time with Albus in an attempt to retrieve her memory, Minerva marched straight down to his office and demanded that he explain every detail of what happened when he found her. She had hoped he would slip up and potentially give another story, or miss out on something that he had told Poppy, but Riddle repeated the story she already knew with exact detail. He even went so far as to ask how she was feeling, and if she needed someone to step in for a class – if she wasn't feeling up to it – he would be more than happy to do so. His kindness threw her, and she thanked him, but informed him that it wouldn't be necessary. When she left his office, she left feeling like a complete idiot. She went in, temper blazing with demands, and left with her tail between her legs. He stuck with his story, and even gave her the name of the Slytherin prefect who found her. Evelyn Cross, a vivacious girl in her seventh year, told her the exact same story, and also inquired as to how she was feeling. Apparently the sight of her unconscious body on the floor gave the girl quite a fright, and she ran to fetch the closest professor she would think of; Riddle.

It was an exceptionally frustrating situation. On one hand, she had all the stories from Poppy, Tom and Evelyn to back up her fall in the lavatory. On the other hand, she had her gut instinct that told her this was false. She wasn't careless, nor would she had barrelled in somewhere without assessing the situation first. It was out of her character to take a spill like that. Even if she had fallen, Minerva was used to tumbles with her farm animals, as an animagus, and in her profession as a Transfigurations enthusiast. Something as little as knocking her head on the floor wouldn't have done a great deal to her. Something was wrong with the situation, but she had nothing to put her finger on. No proof existed, for the time being, to prove her right. Therefore, she let it go. She carried on with her usual routine as if nothing had happened.

News spread of her brief incident around the castle grounds, and Roger Wood was one of the first students to check on her. She informed him she was perfectly fine, but made the informed decision not to attend the Gryffindor Quidditch practice that weekend. Wood understood completely, and told her that if there was anything he could do to make her life a little easier, he would do it. In all seriousness, she wished he was a stellar enough student to mark some of her leftover exams. However, she didn't have enough faith in his ability to mark short answer questions. Therefore, there was nothing he could really do for her. He seemed disappointed, but told her the offer still stood. A few other students asked if she was all right, but Minerva found it more embarrassing than endearing that they all knew she had fallen in a lavatory. It made her sound like some old woman with dementia. It was getting ridiculous.

The questions died down as the week went on, and Minerva was forced to skip nearly all of her free periods monitoring Tom to mark the rest of her exams. She only had one free spare a day, and on top of the other homework she needed to mark, it was impossible to waste it sitting in the Defense classroom to watch Riddle. Albus seemed more insistent than ever that she watch him, particularly with her recent incident, but she honestly just didn't have the time to do it. She couldn't do all these late nights anymore, and if she wanted to get to bed at a decent time, Minerva needed to use her spares. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn't do exactly as Albus wanted. Therefore, to avoid that conversation completely, Minerva avoided her friend and mentor for the better part of the week, had her meals in her office, and threw herself completely into her work.

Now, as she and the other members of the staff decorated the Great Hall for their students, she kept her distance from Dumbledore. He gave no indication that he was cross with her, but Minerva felt like she had let him down by not keeping up with her monitoring of Riddle, and though that distance was best. Pomona and Hagrid were in charge of decorating the hall with exceptionally large pumpkins, which Hagrid had spent the better part of the day carving. They looked marvellous, and when she complimented his designs, he blushed a dull crimson and thanked her.

"He needed a little help getting them to their size," Pomona muttered when Hagrid walked away, shooting Minerva a look, "but I got them to what he wanted. You should see some of the ones by his hut… Absolute giants!"

"Hopefully no students get their hands on them," Minerva mused as she pointed her wand at a window frame. Muttering a charm, she strung up orange and white lights around the frame, and moved onto the next one with ease. "Can you imagine the mess if they smashed one? The whole courtyard could be covered in pumpkin innards."

Pomona snorted, "Oh, what a sight that would be!"

Minerva smiled at her and continued decorating the windows, increasing the size of some of the natural cobwebs to make them a little more apparent. The weather was absolutely horrid outside tonight, and Albus commented somewhere across the hall that he liked the way the jack-o-lanterns lit up with each crack of lightning.

"I can't help but notice you didn't dress very festively this evening," Pomona noted, poking Minerva in the side with a hard finger. "Not even letting your hair down for the dance?"

"Come now, I'm here as a chaperone," Minerva droned, rolling her eyes. "I see no reason to dress up… I'm dressing up the Great Hall! That's adequate enough."

"Oh, poo," Pomona sighed. "No fun on the holidays."

"Only for Christmas."

"Well, I'll believe it when I see it this year," her friend teased, earning her a slightly soured look. Pomona stuck out her tongue a little, and then spotted someone behind her, "Oh, Horace! Come and see what we've done to the staff table!"

She beckoned her bedmate over, and the two sauntered away, leaving Minerva with a smirk on her face. So far, there was no heartbreak for Pomona Sprout, which made her happy. Horace wasn't exactly a cad, but he was known for being a flake whenever something better came along. Seeing as he had a limited pick of other "somethings" in the castle, Minerva took that as a good sign for that relationship to last. She wasn't one for gossip, and wouldn't go out of her way to ask how it was going. Meanwhile, Pomona was a little too shy to discuss her sexual exploits with anyone, even Minerva, so she was a little in the dark as to what was happening between the two professors.

Once she finished with the windows on the right side of the Great Hall, she decided to get to work on the remainder on the left. As she weaved through the house elves rushing about, she spotted Tom standing at the beverages table, stacking cups in triangular formations as Septima Vector talked at him. He seemed more focused on getting the plastic cups perfect than listening to the Arithmancy professor, but he humoured her with a look, a nod and a smirk every so often. He glanced up at her as she marched passed the table, and their eyes met only briefly before Minerva forced all of her attention on the windows. Stopping in front of the first, she began doing exactly what she did with the others to this one, stringing up little lights and cobwebs everywhere. Once she was finished here, she had the task of transfiguring a dance floor in the centre of the room, while Flitwick was in charge of the music selections for the evening. After that, the party would probably commence, and she would be stuck in here until midnight. Another night lost to something other than marking papers. It was frustrating, but as Minerva enlarged a cobweb so that it nearly covered an entire window pane, she decided to keep a positive attitude about everything.

"You've been avoiding me, Minerva."

The headmaster's voice made her jump from her thoughts, and she looked back at him quickly. He didn't look angry or annoyed; it was merely a fact that he had stated.

"I haven't," she lied as she resumed her decorating. "I've just been very busy this week."

"I understand," Albus insisted as he gazed up at her lights. "I don't expect you live and breathe the assignment I gave you. I expect you to get side-tracked sometimes… After all, your duty as a professor should come first."

She pursed her lips, and then nodded, "Thank you. I just… It's been so busy-"

"I know," he interrupted. "I understand, and you can stop eating in your office now that you know I'm not cross with you."

"That would be a welcome change," she chuckled, taking a step back to admire a completed window. "What do you think?"

"Very festive," he told her with a nod. "I like the cobwebs… Perhaps I'll see if we can find some spiders to put in them."

"That would give it a little something extra."

"Would you do me a favour tonight?" he asked. She looked and him and raised her eyebrows.

"Another one?" Minerva teased.

"Not one quite as serious, thankfully," Dumbledore chuckled with a wink. "I'd like you to keep an eye on the drinks tonight… There are rumours floating around that someone might try to add a little something extra to it."

"I'll keep my eye on it," Minerva assured him.

He gave her another smile and then sauntered off, humming a soft tune under his breath. With a slight smile, Minerva finished up the windows quickly, and then carried on with her next task. She grabbed a plate off one of the tables and set it in the centre of the room. Moments later that she had warped it and enlarged it into a proper dance floor for her students to cut the rug on. Frowning at the notion, Minerva sheathed her wand and found her way over to Pomona again.

From there, she engaged in some lively conversation with her and Horace until the students began trickling in sometime after nine. The hall looked spectacular, in her opinion, and everyone had really outdone themselves. The ghosts whirled around in the ceiling, dove through people, and seemed genuinely interested in participating. Cobwebs, moving furniture, and a modern beat kept the hall alive as students of all ages started to pour in. As it became busier, Minerva decided it was best to start watching the punch. As the music grew louder, and her pupils began swinging around on the dance floor with a partner, she knew they would all lumber over at some point for a drink. Albus was certainly no dictator when it came to alcohol, but he wasn't one to condone underage drinking so blatantly. She understood why he thought someone ought to watch it.

She took up a spot right behind the table, her eyes on the crowd, but still observing the punch bowl as students came up to get something to drink. There were a few little assortments of snacks at the other end of the table, but that wasn't really a concern for any of the staff. In fact, Hagrid seemed to have that covered anyway. She watched him graze for almost fifteen minutes before she gave him a polite reminder that those were for the students too. Once again, he blushed and apologized, but was soon back for more within five or so minutes, his plate now empty.

Although Minerva wasn't one for parties, this was going swimmingly. Everyone seemed well-behaved. There was a great deal of laughter, and a few screams from first years as ghosts dipped their hands through them. The hall was quite crowded though, and she assumed that by the numbers nearly everyone decided to make an appearance at the dance before venturing off to do other things. With a curfew of midnight, the students would be allowed to wander the corridors for much longer. This could lead to mischief, but if that was the case, next year they wouldn't have such a fantastic celebration for Halloween, and they could only blame themselves.

"This seems to be a success."

She flinched, again drawn out of her thoughts by someone sneaking up on her. Tom Riddle stood at her side, his hands behind her back and eyes on the sea of students. Minerva nodded, "Yes, they do seem to be having a good time."

"Some more than others," he chuckled. She glanced up at him and followed his gaze. Horace and Pomona seemed to forgo their usual secrecy, and were dancing rather closely on the dance floor. She threw her head back and laughed as Horace whispered something in her ear.

"Are you implying something, Riddle?" Minerva asked. He shrugged.

"I don't think I need to imply… I think it's fairly obvious they're an item."

"What?" Minerva gasped, shaking her head, "I don't think it's obvious at all."

"Well, I think you need to look a little harder then, because it's been so blatant this past week I'm surprised she doesn't have a ring yet."

"I think that's a little presumptuous," she told him neutrally, "but it's none of our business."

"I suppose."

They stood in silence for what Minerva guessed was about two minutes. There were plenty of other staff members milling around as chaperones, and the ones that were not 'on duty' could be found on the dance floor with a friend, perhaps more. It was a pleasant sight, she thought, which surprised her.

"Do you want to dance?"

She continued to stare at the crowd for a moment longer, and then came back to reality quickly when she realized he was looking at her. The question, therefore, must have been for her.

"What?"

"Dance," he repeated with a bit of a smirk. "Would you like to?"

"I… I have to watch the … punch," she stammered, pointing down at the bowl of pink liquid gingerly. He arched an eyebrow, and then looked over his shoulder.

"Hagrid can watch it for a song," Riddle insisted. "Won't you, Hagrid?"

The half-giant looked up quickly from his plate and then nodded. Riddle grinned, "See? Duty covered."

"But…"

He grabbed her hand and lugged her away from the table, ignoring her protests. The man found them an empty spot on the floor and whirled her around, her thick green skirts twirling at the movement, and pulled her in close. With one hand on her waist, and the other holding one of hers tightly, she begrudgingly placed her spare hand on his shoulder. From that point, he just stood there and looked down at their feet. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she couldn't help but smile a little.

"You do…" she fumbled for the delicate wording, "know how to dance, don't you?"

"Haven't a clue, actually."

"Why… Why would you ask me to dance then?" Minerva asked, her eyes widening in slight disbelief. He looked back up at her, and then shrugged again, an impish grin on his lips.

"Maybe I just wanted to dance with you," Riddle told her, "and I didn't think you'd accept. I didn't exactly think this far ahead."

She noticed a few people staring at them, and she cleared her throat, "Well, I suppose I can always teach you. It's not very difficult."

Minerva was thankfully she opted out of wearing her hat for the evening; otherwise they were bound to knock into each other at some point with its wide brim. She took a small step back so that they could both see their feet, which was no easy task in her dress, but she began to teach him a simply waltz regardless.

"It's really simple," she started. "Just three easy steps and you'll know how to waltz. First bring this leg forward, and when you do, I step back. Yes, like that. And then we move to the side, and then back."

He stared down at their feet, clearly in concentration, but he picked it up quickly. Soon, he was leading without a second thought, and she gave him a smile, one she reserved for her quick learners, "See? It's not really that difficult. I don't know how you didn't know the basics."

"Can't say I spent my childhood learning the waltz and the lindy," he droned sarcastically, making her scoff.

"I grew up on a farm and even I knew the basics," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Well, now you know."

"Yes, and now I can keep you dancing a little longer with my perfect steps," Riddle stated playfully as he pulled her closer. She shifted uncomfortably, but noticed that he only did it so that they could avoid knocking into a slightly exuberant young couple behind them. Once they were at a safe distance from them, he gave her a respectful space again.

They danced through an entire song, and when it switched to a new one, Minerva stopped, ready to return to her punch duty. However, Riddle tightened his grip slightly on her waist as the next song started. It was slower, something that wasn't suited for the steps she taught him. Instead, they swayed back and forth on the spot. Tom seemed to forgo the respectful distance and had her much closer, to the point where she could nearly feel each breath against her face.

"You look very nice tonight, Minerva," he said quietly. She exhaled a shocked puff of air, her eyes darting around the nearby vicinity to see if anyone was watching. Not only did she not participate in gossip, she certainly wasn't a fan of being the subject of it. From the way he held her, there was certainly going to be some chatter about them somewhere, which made her squirm inside.

"I think I look the same as I always do."

"Are you uncomfortable with compliments, or are you uncomfortable with me?"

Minerva frowned at him, "I'm not… I'm not uncomfortable with you."

And she meant it. The only reason she wasn't was because she knew Tom Riddle wanted to make her squirm. Despite his charmingly boyish behaviour tonight, she knew that this wasn't his persona normally. She wasn't sure what had changed him in lately, but there was something different about him. Pomona called it thawing, but Minerva decided immediately that was a poor choice of words. It was something else, something she couldn't place her finger on. One thing she was sure of is that Tom Riddle would do something at some point, and suddenly everything would become perfectly clear. For now, she just had to bide her time.

"I'm glad," he told her. "I felt like you were the last one of the staff that felt… a distance from me. I would like us to be friends, Minerva."

"A friendship requires trust," Minerva said after a moment. "It depends on it."

"You don't trust me?"

Without a second of hesitation, she stared up at him boldly, "No."

Tom said nothing. Instead, he smiled for the first time, and then kept her on the dance floor for the better part of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**The thought of Riddle stacking cups in triangles made me endlessly happy. Along with the thought of Professor Vector chatting his ear off while doing so, and his mind being all "Yeay cups. Worst job ever." Like Phoebe, from FRIENDS, when she gets stuck with cups and ice for Monica's party, but she makes it the BEST DAMN CUPS AND ICE EVER. It's how I pictured Riddle. You just know Dumbles put him in charge of cups because he can. **

**I think he can definitely be charming. I think he knows ALL the right angles the play, from helplessly cute and boyish to in control. I'd like to think that's how he got people like Hepzibah Smith and whatnot to be all OMGTOMYOU'REHOT! back in the day. Ahh he's delicious. However, Minerva isn't Hepzibah. So. He's going to need a good angle. **

**Also, Sprout/Sluggy, Dumbles and Hagrid all make me grin. I have never done a fic that has featured them so heavily, and it's a lot of fun. They're all so cute. **


	14. Out of my mind lately

It seemed the moment October turned into November, the weather decided to just give up. The first week of the second last month of the year was just dreadful. The air was frigid, yet not chilly enough to fully freeze the rain that pelted down from the sky. Therefore, they were stuck in some strange weather limbo at Hogwarts. It wasn't quite winter yet, but it was no longer fall. In Minerva's opinion, the weather was simply dreadful. It made the Great Hall look miserable, as Albus wasn't one to change the enchanted ceiling back, and it was useless weather for Quidditch. She dragged herself to one practice that week, but as the players were nearly knocked out of the air by chunks of ice, she was forced to end it early for their own safety. None of them had brought goggles, and she wasn't about to have them lose an eye on their watch. Some of the team protested, but Roger Wood was quick to put them in their place. She was a professor, after all. Mind you, they probably stopped seeing her as a professor when she stepped onto the pitch with them. Minerva dressed in her old Quidditch uniform, shouted directions like Wood, and made mistakes just like the rest of them. Like the weather, Minerva was stuck in a Quidditch limbo too. Not quite a part of the team, but still not a professor. It wasn't a position she was comfortable in, but she made do for now.

Finally, the dreaded exam period in October had come to an end. Minerva slacked on her Tom Riddle assignment with Dumbledore's blessing in order to get everything graded and back to her students in a timely fashion. She was still a little behind on the homework corrections, but now that she wasn't stuck grading essay exams, she knew she would have the appropriate amount of time to get everything done. All in all, her students did adequately enough on her exams. Some struggled terribly, but most were students who hadn't signed on to continue with Transfigurations after their fifth year. At that point, she knew they wouldn't be back for a following year of torture. She learned last year that those who weren't good at Transfigurations, or had no desire to be good at it, simply needed to get the appropriate amount of information to pass their examinations at the end of the year, and the be done with it. Minerva may have been tough on her students, but she respected those who knew what they wanted to do after school. If her lessons had nothing to do with their interests, then it made perfect sense to her why their effort was less in them. After all, she thought Divination was an absolute waste of space and time, and put the minimal effort into it during school in order to get a passing grade and be done with it. She wasn't about empathizing with her students, so long as they weren't blowing off her coursework.

Tom Riddle remained more of the same as the week carried on. She felt a little uncomfortable monitoring him after the Halloween dance. It had been a success in that no one spiked the punch, all students were in bed by midnight, and it only took a half an hour to clean up once they were gone. Minerva spent most of the night dancing with Tom Riddle, who kept asking her to show him different steps whenever the style of music changed. She didn't know many, but by the end they were dancing with Slughorn and Pomona, who were much more skilled dancers and taught the younger couple a few older moves. It was actually a pleasant time. Tom was a little sarcastic, but it was nothing Minerva couldn't handle. When the night came to a close, he offered to walk her back to her room, but she told him she was going to do an hour's worth of grading in her office before bed. It was a bit of a lie, as she walked back to her room by herself to snuggle with Gus and a good book. Well, it was a downright lie. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she didn't want Tom walking her anywhere. She wasn't particularly sure what he would expect when they finally got to her room. Minerva wasn't about to invite him in, and because she had little to no trust in him, she wasn't sure how he would react to a dismissal.

Otherwise, the week passed without a hitch. Minerva found herself a little bored in Tom's lessons now, mostly because he had behaved like a perfect professor would. He corrected assignments quickly, admonished bad behaviour, and even eased off on his previous blatant prejudice toward Slytherin students. All in all, Tom Riddle was shaping up into a fine professor. Minerva expressed her findings to Dumbledore on the Friday night of that week in hopes that he might take her off this ridiculous venture. However, while he was pleased that she was back to watching him, Albus informed her that she had to stick with this schedule until at least the Christmas holidays. Apparently, Tom was a man who knew how to behave for authority. According to Dumbledore, he was adept at putting on any act that individual wanted to see. Eventually, he grew tired of it, and his true colours would appear. If he knew so much about Riddle, Minerva almost asked why _he_ didn't monitor the class and spare her the time. Naturally, Minerva already knew the answer to that. Albus was too busy and certainly too important, genuinely, around the castle and in the school's affairs to sit in once or twice a day to watch Tom Riddle. She couldn't attend all of his lectures, but they both figured the number of times she visited during the week – somewhere between five and ten times – would be enough to keep Tom on his toes and in line. So far, she thought they succeeded.

Now, there were other events at Hogwarts aside from mandatory classroom time, Tom Riddle and Quidditch. Hogsmeade weekend ventures were in full swing, and Minerva had the glorious task of approving everyone's permission slips back in late September. There were still a few stragglers who had a little trouble convincing their parents to let them go, and occasionally a student would appear in her office with one freshly signed. She had to ensure it wasn't a forgery, and then add their name to the roster of students allowed to visit the village on weekends. When she had the time, Minerva generally marched down to the village with whoever on staff was attending, either for fun or as a supervisor, and joined them for a nice warm drink at the Three Broomsticks. It was always nice to relax for an hour or two, with or without company. Sometimes she brought a good book, usually fiction, and sat in the corner, a warm cup of tea and a biscuit to nibble on and let the afternoon roll by. Of course, that wasn't something she let happen often, but she learned last year that it was necessary to have personal days in such a strenuous profession. If one didn't, they'd go mad.

That kind of day was exactly what Minerva had in mind. She borrowed a fiction from the library, gathered up some papers to grade when she started to feel guilty and bundled up for her trip down to the cosy little village. Pomona planned to drop by their usual pub for dinner, so she had the majority of the afternoon to herself. Normally they couldn't justify spending money on food when they had a regular gourmet meal daily, but sometimes they needed to eat elsewhere. Until Pomona arrived, Minerva had every intention of hiding herself away in some comfortable corner with her book and her assignments, and give anyone a hard enough look should they try to engage her in conversation. Not that she wasn't normally friendly, but she wanted time with her book, damn it.

She smiled kindly at students as she passed them in groups. Some were already on their way back, seemingly sick of the miserable weather before the afternoon was out. It had startled to drizzle halfway to Hogsmeade, but Minerva wasn't about to go back. She transfigured a book into an umbrella and trekked onward, gritting her teeth against the cold. All she had to do was think of the glorious cup of tea that awaited her, and her usual private corner with the comfortable armchair. All in all, the trip down to the village would be worth it.

"Professor!"

Minerva paused and looked over the shoulder. She could tell it was Roger Wood long before he came into focus, and she finally spotted him nudging his way through a group of girls with massive umbrellas.

"Hello, Wood," she greeted with a friendly grin, holding her black umbrella over his head to spare him from the rain. "What are you doing in this weather without some sort of protection?"

"I thought I could outrun it, to be honest," he admitted with an impish shrug. "Sort of wish I brought my umbrella with me."

"Are you on your way to the village?"

"Yeah, meeting up with some friends at the pub for tea," Roger replied. His eyes flickered upward only slightly at the umbrella, and Minerva realized that she couldn't send him off on his way when they were both going the same direction. She wasn't particularly comfortable with how close he was standing, but that couldn't exactly be helped in the given situation.

"Perhaps next time you could think of a particular charm to get you out of the situation," Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes a little, "but for now, you can share my umbrella."

"Thanks, professor," he grinned, brushing some water droplets off his cheeks. "I'd probably be sick by the time I got to the village if I kept on like this."

"Really, Wood, so inconsiderate for yourself," she mused, shooting him a bit of a scolding look before returning the grin. He was a good boy, this Roger Wood. Certainly too young for her, but a good boy regardless who knew how to be polite to just about everyone. Young men of his calibre were dwindling, in her opinion, and she feared for the future.

"So," Wood started, shoving his bare hands into his pockets, "any big plans for the weekend?"

"I beg your pardon?" she said quickly, a little thrown by the personal nature of the question. He shrugged again.

"I dunno, what do professors do for fun when the weekend hits?"

"We don't _do_ fun, Wood," she remarked briskly. "We do our jobs… It's a seven day a week career."

"Oh, come on," he chuckled. "I'm sure you do something for fun sometimes."

"Well…" she started cautiously, "There's Quidditch-"

"Doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"It's associated with school," he informed her. "What do you do that's not related to academics and mandatory volunteer hours with us?"

"It's not… It's not a mandatory thing," Minerva argued, tightening her grip on the umbrella as the wind picked up. "I coach Quidditch with you because I like it."

"Oh. Well, I like it too."

Minerva cringed a little when his tone softened, and was quick to change the subject, "Otherwise, I like to find a nice quiet corner somewhere and get into a really good book. That is my plan for the day… Some quiet time with a book."

"Sounds great… Maybe I'll pull up a chair and do some homework with you," he suggested as they finally entered the village, marching past The Hog's Head and into the heart of it. She said nothing at the suggestion, mostly because she found herself distracted by someone else.

Her mind was so used to looking for Tom Riddle that it wasn't difficult to spot him, even in the rain. He was standing with another man under an awning in front of a plant store. They stood close together, and Tom seemed irritated with his companion. Dumbledore told her early in the year that Tom wasn't allowed to have visitors near the students, but he was vague on his reasoning. Perhaps he associated with the wrong sort of crowd outside Hogwarts, a notion that wasn't altogether surprising. Minerva wasn't about to question Albus either, so when she saw Tom associating with a man who wasn't from the village, nor did he belong to any department of the Hogwarts staff, she knew it was something to question.

"He's a bit of a funny one, eh?"

"Sorry?" Minerva asked, shaking her head a little as she watched the stranger give Tom Riddle a file folder, which he slipped inside his cloak, "Did you say something?"

"Riddle," Wood repeated, nodding at the man, "I think he's a bit off."

"I happen to agree with you," Minerva muttered, glancing over her shoulder to ensure there were no groups of students lurking nearby. She then turned to face Wood and looked pointedly at the Three Broomsticks, "I remember that I need to ask him something… Why don't you run along?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Wood," she snapped. "Have a nice afternoon."

It was dismissive and curt enough to get her point across. She wasn't in the mood for any other conversation, especially when she saw Riddle spot her, and then disappear into a small alley between the two buildings with his strange companion. Pursing her lips, she left Wood without a farewell. It had to be clear that something else caught her attention. She saw his vague outline in the window reflection as she marched away. The boy stood still for a moment or so, and then turned away painfully slow and strolled toward the pub, glancing at her once or twice over her shoulder. Rain and sleet pelted at her thin umbrella as she rushed down the alleyway. Perhaps this was the moment where she could finally catch him in the act! Something shady had to be in that file folder; otherwise Riddle would have had it sent to the school via regular post. What didn't he want everyone else to see? She was always sure he was up to something, but this could turn into her moment to finally put a good dent into that mystery.

Minerva stumbled a little when her shoe slipped. The puddles were so deep and frigid at this point that her shoes were completely soaked, right through to her actual skin. She quickly rounded a corner and found herself in the back area of all the buildings. A small fence stood between her and an open field of nothingness. The tree line started perhaps a few hundred meters out, but otherwise there was nothing else of interest out there. Smoke swirled from the chimneys of the buildings behind her, and she marched along the row quickly, examining nooks and crannies in the buildings themselves. Had he apparated away? That was something he wasn't allowed to do either. She knew he could only leave the grounds with permission from Albus. If he left now, he was breaking his contract, and would have to be removed from his position at Hogwarts. Was he willing to risk that just because she spotted him doing some crooked dealings? Maybe. Minerva fumbled for her wand awkwardly, her umbrella knocking about. The rain slowly became so heavy that it was a little difficult to see much of anything. The wind beat at her lean frame feverishly, as though she had transgressed against it somehow, and she struggled to keep her footing.

"_Homenum Revelio_," Minerva hissed, hoping to draw Tom out of his hiding place. However, when no human came charging out of the shadows, she frowned. Had he managed to evade her that well? He might have been smart, but his companion seemed a little slow, judging by his previous irritation.

Finally, the wind managed to get the best of her and tore her umbrella right from her hand. She gasped a little in shock at the temperature of the rain that now hammered down on her exposed head. Everything was soaking wet. Her shoulder bag with all her papers probably suffered the most, as she hadn't thought to cast any sort of protection over it before she set out. Hopefully the assignments were all right. It was too thick with rain and sleet for her to see her umbrella, and she summoned it with a flick of her wand. It came zooming back to her, as it should, but she groaned loudly when she saw the wind managed to break it in the process. Considering this had once been her beloved fictional book, she realized it would take a lot more than a few quick spells to fix everything, dry it out, and turn it back into something readable for the afternoon. It was at that point she decided to give up on her search temporarily in order to dry off. Once she had herself sorted, Minerva would head out again and search the village for Tom and his little friend.

She managed to navigate her way back to the heart of the village, and eventually got into the Three Broomsticks without any further damage. Stepping into the small doorway, she could hear it was abuzz with students, and would probably have to find a seat in the upper levels if she wanted any quiet. Shaking out her broken umbrella, Minerva stepped into the pub, her eyes fixed on the umbrella. It seemed more damaged than she anticipated. This was a disaster and a half.

With her attention fixed on her umbrella, she wasn't watching where she was going, and ended up walking smack into someone making a beeline for the second floor of the establishment. They actually collided so hard that she felt a drink spilled on her. It wasn't scalding, thankfully, and she was soaked enough for it not to make a difference, but someone still needed to suffer for their lack of care. She couldn't be to blame; clearly she was distracted.

"My, you're a mess."

Minerva's head snapped up from her newly butterbeer drenched front to glare daggers at Tom Riddle. Her irritation hid her bewilderment. How on Earth did he manage to get in here and order a drink? Had she really been gone that long?

"That's not much of an apology, Riddle, but I suppose I'll take it," she snapped softly, brushing off some foam. "You've got some explaining to do."

"Really, Minerva," he groaned, rolling his eyes a little, "I honestly didn't see you. I just wanted to grab a seat upstairs before the students migrated there too."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," Minerva whispered heatedly. She opened her mouth, ready to challenge him right then and there, but she was interrupted by another familiar voice.

"Professor, are you all right?"

"Fine, Wood," Minerva said quickly, her cheeks tinting when she saw Tom smirk smugly. More than a few students had paused their conversations to look at the tense interactions of their professors, and Minerva really wished they could just keep their focus on their own drama.

"Why don't you go upstairs and I'll order us something to drink?" Tom suggested, "Tea? Two sugars and milk?"

"I… What… No," Minerva managed, a little stunned that he knew her order. However, he was already gone back toward the bar. Conversations around her resumed now that the situation had diffused, and she glared at his back.

"What happened to your umbrella?" Roger inquired, ignoring the dismissiveness of her previous tone. She sighed noisily.

"The elements did," she told him. "Excuse me."

A part of her wanted to follow Riddle to the bar, grab him by the ear, and drag him outside where they could have a proper conversation. However, he was too quick, and it seemed only seconds later he sauntered back over to her with a tea in one hand and a new butterbeer in the other.

"Sweet of you to wait for me," he told her, not pausing in stride as he continued toward the thick staircase. "Come on, Minerva."

She ignored the look Roger gave her and hastily scurried up after him, hating the way her drenched skirts stuck to her legs. It was almost impossible to walk without looking like an idiot in this outfit. As she suspected, the upstairs was empty. Most students weren't even aware it existed, as they were usually ushered down by the bartender whenever they set foot on the stairs. Usually, during the school year, it was reserved for adults in an attempt to give them somewhere quieter to enjoy their drink. Tom set their drinks down on a random table and she marched after him.

"He's got such a little crush on you."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped as she dumped her belongings on a nearby table. He arched an eyebrow and she quickly took off her thick, soaking cloak and set it down next to her bag.

"Roger Wood, your Quidditch friend," he sneered. "You can't imagine how many times I've caught him looking at you when you monitor my class… It's some feat, seeing as you sit nearly four rows behind him."

"Don't be absurd," Minerva scoffed as she began drying her belongings, running her wand along them until they were back to their pre-rain state. Once that was accomplished, she quickly dried herself off, sighing a little when her undergarments and skirts no longer stuck uncomfortably to her skin.

"What, you don't think a student can fancy a professor?" Riddle challenged, grasping the little round tray her tea rested on and pushing it across the table to her. "You can't be that naïve."

"I am hardly naïve," she remarked stiffly, "but it's not something I wish to discuss with you."

"Come now, we're colleagues," he argued. "Maybe even a few steps closer toward friendship-"

"That involves a higher degree of trust than I have with you," Minerva reminded him plainly. "Now, what I wanted to discuss… Who was the man you were with earlier?"

"Always straight to the point," Tom chuckled as she sat on the bench across from him, not touching the tea he purchased for her. "How do you know I was with anyone?"

"I saw you."

"And you are sure it was me?"

"I know what you look like, Riddle."

"Been paying extra close attention then?"

"Stop trying to avoid giving me an answer," she ordered, her eyes narrowing. "I saw you with a man and he gave you a file. Who was he, and what was in that folder? You know as a stipulation of your contract with Albus-"

"Minerva, honestly," Tom groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in what she perceived as exasperation. "You need to give it a rest… I met up with an old school friend who I haven't seen in years for lunch today."

"Where did you run off to behind the florist?" she demanded. He had seemed to be in a pretty big hurry to get out of there once she spotted him.

"I showed him to a good apparation point, and then he left. I came back here before the rain became too much. Clearly you did not share my good sense."

"And the folder?"

"What folder?"

"The one your _friend_ gave you."

"He didn't give me a folder," Tom replied, opening his cloak for her to look. She saw no pockets, and no protruding sheets of paper. "You must have been seeing things."

"Anything can be hidden with magic."

"Would you like to do a thorough search, just to be sure?" he asked, taking a quick sip of his drink before standing up. "I'll give you full permission… Look anywhere you like."

Minerva stared at him for a moment, debating whether or not to actually perform a magic or physical search on the man. Her debate was quickly over; it would be highly inappropriate to do either. Regardless of her suspicions, he _was_ a colleague, and she had to give him a little bit of respect. A magical search of his person would be highly intrusive. Perhaps necessary, but Minerva would never allow someone to do that to her, regardless of whether she was hiding something or not. As far as a physical search… Well, she wasn't about to do that, either. Minerva was a lady, after all.

"Really, this paranoia regarding me needs to stop," Tom insisted as he sat back down, no doubt taking her silence as a rejection of his offer. "What have I done to warrant it?"

"More than enough," she replied frankly. "Need I bring up various incidents where I've caught you in Myrtle's lavatory?"

"I have a perfectly legitimate reason for being in there and you know it."

"Hardly."

"Honest and true," Tom started, sliding around the corner of the table so that he was closer to her, "I've been nothing but a good professor since we started. No complaints from anyone but you. Doesn't that say something?"

"Maybe no one knows you like I do," she reasoned, slightly uncomfortable with the look in his eye. As usual, everything on his face appeared friendly, but his eyes were distinctly cold. They were the real reason she couldn't trust him. He ought to look the same everywhere.

"Oh, I don't think you know me at all," he murmured, holding her gaze as defiantly as she glared back.

"Tell me what I'm missing then," Minerva urged. She then smirked a little, and spat, "Don't you want to be friends?"

"I want…" he trailed off, and then suddenly snatched her wand away off the table before she could stop him, "for you to stop being so tense around me. Really, I haven't done anything to you personally that would warrant this kind of suspicion."

"Give me back my wand," Minerva demanded, slightly baffled by the irony of his statement. She reached out to snatch it back, but he caught her by the wrist, his long, slim fingers wrapping around it firmly.

"Only if you promise to put it away," he told her as he held it an arm's length away. "Do you promise, Minerva?"

"Don't speak to me like I'm a child-"

"I could hang onto it then-"

"Fine," she all but shouted, "I promise."

"I just want us to have a conversation where we're on equal terms," he insisted, handing it back to her after he let her go. She wanted to ram it into his face and demand the truth out of him, but she decided in the end to make good on her promise. She tossed it on the table behind them, on top of her discarded cloak, and arched an eyebrow at him.

"See? Nothing's happened."

"You're impossible," she sighed without meaning to. Honestly, he was like a little boy. Worse than some of her first years, she decided, but too skilled not to be taken seriously.

"I'd like to think so."

"Do you enjoy infuriating people?"

"Not everyone," he replied. "I think you're an exception."

"Excuse me?"

"Drink your tea, Minerva, or it'll get cold."

"Look, Riddle-"

"Just drink your tea."

She pursed her lips, and then grabbed her delicate cup. Minerva wasn't about to just do whatever he wanted her to do, but if he was going to fixate on her tea, she figured it was a way to appease him and make life easier on herself.

"How is it?" he asked as she took a sip. Aside from it being a little on the sweet side, she decided it was just as good as the tea she would make for herself at the castle.

"A little sweet-"

"The bartender put in three cubes instead of two," Tom told her, rolling his eyes, "but I've seen you drink it like that before, so I figured it would be fine."

Minerva stared at him blankly, running over the amount of times they had eaten together, and how he could possibly know that much about her tea drinking habits. Was he watching her more closely than she thought?

"How do you-"

"What's in your bag?" he demanded, cutting her off noisily as he nodded toward her discarded.

"Assignments."

"Oh, I've brought some with me too," he said suddenly. Tom stood and stepped over the bench, "I've left them downstairs. You've just reminded me… We can do some grading together."

"But I…"

She trailed off as he walked back towards the stairs and disappeared. Honestly, this man was probably the most confusing one she had _ever_ met! What was his angle? Despite the fact she had seen something worthwhile today, she was no closer to actually figuring anything out that would be worthwhile to Albus. This was going to be a very long term.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**LOL WUT. I love Tom being all, "What have I done to make you hate meeee?" Such a little jerk. **

**OMG WHAT IS IN THE FOLDER? Right now, I don't think Minerva will actually find out. You'll discover it in the next Voldemort POV chapter, but for now I'll leave it up to you to decide.**

**Sorry for the long stretch between updates. I'm back in uni now that the term has started, and it's hard to update as frequently as before while I'm in school, working, book writing, and updating other stories. I will TRY my hardest to keep up a weekly thing for this story, particularly since the muse is so strong. **

**I felt Tom was marginally OOC in this chapter. Maybe just a little… maybe not OOC, but clearly playing with different parts of his personality. I tried to bring him back, but this was the way it flowed. Hope you enjoyed! Longest chapter so far! **


	15. But I want to be free

Voldemort surely would have been fired for this. He had Evelyn Cross in his office, well after curfew, and a first year student he found sneaking out of bed about two hours ago now completely under the Imperius Curse. If Albus caught them, not only would Voldemort be fired, but he probably would have been arrested for performing an Unforgivable on an underage student in the presence of another. However, when the opportunity presented itself, as it had tonight, Voldemort wasn't about to spit in the face of fate.

He hadn't been on duty tonight, merely on a walk back from the staff room to his chambers when he stumbled upon a first year on his way to the kitchens. Apparently, the lad was hungry, and instead of waiting until the morning like everyone else, he took it upon himself to try to break into the kitchens. He was actually quite terrible at being discreet, and the only reason Voldemort even noticed him was from the monumental noise that came from the portraits telling the lad to keep quiet. At first, he hadn't wanted to deal with it. Although he was a professor, and took a great liking to embarrassing idiots in his lessons, he hadn't particularly enjoyed disciplining students the "proper" way with detentions and the like. It meant time had to be taken out of his busy schedule to sit with some simpleton who was stupid enough to get caught breaking the rules.

Unfortunately, several portraits spotted Voldemort before he could scuttle off into the shadows, and demanded he reprimand the boy who had the audacity to sneak around after bedtime. Clearly, the portraits in this hallway were filled with old prudes and do-gooders, but he found it hard to ignore their demands. If he did, he was quite sure one of the portraits led to Dumbledore's office, and he wasn't in the mood for a lecture at this hour.

So, he beckoned the mischievous lad, a Gryffindor by the name of Dylan Pendergast, to follow him to his office nearby. The boy was a bit useless in his lessons, but otherwise Voldemort knew nothing about him. However, as Dylan stood in front of his desk, eyes cast down and lower lip quivering a little, Voldemort suddenly realized he could have a quick session with his brightest new recruit.

Evelyn usually spent an hour after her prefect duties in his office, which meant every other week she was there each night with him. He lectured on the darker side of magic, taught her lessons of pureblood histories, and instructed her more thoroughly in offensive and defensive magic. She learned quickly, and was more interested in offensive magic, but he argued that in order to be a complete and whole witch, she would need both for the real world. She lapped up everything he said as if her life depended on it. The girl was still an outrageous flirt with him, but he played with her, and at this point, he didn't need to look into her mind to see her expectations for their future. He knew that when she finished Hogwarts, she would seek him and attempt to start something with him. It was as if these lessons were their courting period, and once they were over, the full relationship could start.

Naturally, Voldemort had no intentions of ever fulfilling her romantic requests. He strung her along because if she had hope, she wouldn't leave him. Evelyn may have been an arrogant girl with no real aspirations for the future, but she came from money, blood purity, and had a good brain in her head for useful magic. All in all, she was the perfect candidate for a future Death Eater. By the time he was finished with her, there was no chance of her declining his offer. She might be a little stunned at first, but his flattery would woo her. She would feel privileged that the Dark Lord took a special interest in her and her alone, out of all the other pupils at Hogwarts, to become his special project. In fact, she should feel overwhelmed with gratitude, as she could potentially be the first female Death Eater to join his ranks in the 1950s. Women usually had no place in the field, and although many of his subjects were married, the option for their wives to get the mark was never, ever discussed. However, as he watched the girl flourish under his careful teachings, he figured it was time to lift the bar a little and let a female slip into his net.

Voldemort was completely aware of the effect he had on women. In his youth he had been very attractive, and as he got older, his looks remained. Although he had never felt the emotions one did in a relationship, he observed how people reacted to the opposite sex. He watched the way his friend's treated the girlfriends, and through his listening skills, obtained knowledge from the women themselves about how they wanted to be treated. They needed charm because no one else in their lives would give it to them. He had always been quick to read people, and as he delved further into his manipulations of the people around him, he quickly knew how he ought to interact with a woman, and usually men, to get what he wanted without threats. Evelyn was no exception. She lacked a father figure growing up, and sought affections from an older man to fill that void. She liked the fantasy of a professor showing an interest in her, and he was sure that his looks continued to help him, even now. He might have been worn from the splitting of soul over the years, but he knew he was still a fairly handsome man. Evelyn liked praise, attention, and a confident hand to put her in her place when she stepped too far out of line.

In fact, that was what most women wanted. There was a specific formula he could follow to achieve the results he desired in the end, and so far it had worked wonderfully. Unfortunately, his formula seemed to hit a bump in the road recently. That bump was Minerva McGonagall. She wasn't succumbing to his advances, not romantically nor in the means of a friendship. His initial intention wasn't romantic at all with Minerva. He noticed that she felt flustered at the strangest things, like the thought of Roger Wood fancying her, or when a man stood too close. Voldemort then realized that she was old-fashioned down to her very core. She wasn't sexually aggressive – according to her friends, anyhow – nor was she one to encourage flirtation. Therefore, to make her feel a little special, Voldemort began his interactions with her by trying to flirt. After all, why not? She was attractive in his eyes, intelligent, and a witch that he could tolerate for short periods at a time. However, she neither responded nor encouraged his advances. Not to be undone, Voldemort tried to change his approach and hope that he might be able to earn her friendship. All of this was necessary if he wanted the woman off his tail. She was too clever for her own good, and he literally couldn't do _anything_ in the castle or in the village without Minerva catching wind of it.

Unfortunately, she was too paranoid about him to even be remotely interested in a friendship. At this point, Voldemort assumed she tolerated him, and viewed him as an associate. Potentially a positive associate, mind you, but he still had a lot more work to do with her. She still blushed furiously whenever he brought something up that could be taken as remotely sexual or flirtatious, so he decided he would try to find the fine line between friendship and a romantic interest for the year. Once he had achieved that status, he might be able to persuade her to stop monitoring him so ridiculously. At that point, he might finally be able to get some real work done in this bloody castle. Until then, his situation seemed marginally hopeless. Not that he was a pessimist, by any means, but Voldemort liked to think he was a realist in these situations. He would break down Minerva McGonagall, one way or another, but it would take more time than he originally anticipated.

Evelyn took no time at all. One week and she was already willing to crawl into bed with him at the slightest indication of his interest. In the evenings, when he felt so inclined, he gave Evelyn his full attention. He summoned her that evening with a note, which was enchanted to flutter down to the Slytherin dormitories and reveal its message only in her hands. Should only else hold it or try to keep it from her, the tips of the page would ignite. When Evelyn turned up at his office within ten minutes of sending the note, only the corners of it mildly singed, he smirked at her and motioned at the first year. She looked slightly confused, as his note gave no indication of his intentions for the evening. However, as he lifted his wand and nonchalantly casted the Imperius Curse over the befuddled boy, she smiled cruelly and withdrew her wand. He locked the door, soundproofed the room with a quick spell, and then told her they were going to practice the Cruciatus Curse. However, he needed to grab a Pain Relief Draught from the Hospital Wing before they got too far into the evening. Therefore, he left Evelyn alone to practice her abilities to control a person under Voldemort's curse and set off to retrieve his potion. He couldn't bring the boy out of the spell later in the evening and try to explain why his body was in agony. Tonight, he didn't have the patience. Instead, it was easier just to blitz the whole thing and pretend it never happened.

When he returned, Evelyn had the boy smacking himself in the face repeatedly, which made him chuckle a little. At least her mind was a little twisted. She wouldn't have been put in his old house if she was a sweet girl. They then started the night out with a little bit of light torture. The boy screamed and cried, but only a little, and stopped when Voldemort instructed him to be quiet. Now, all the torture had to be done by Evelyn. If Albus grabbed his wand and saw that the last spell was the Cruciatus, he'd have him. Now, the Imperius gave him some leeway, a he could argue he gave some little demonstration in class on a frog, and Evelyn would vouch for him. However, a torture spell was a little more difficult to explain away to Albus Dumbledore. He also knew that if he showed Evelyn the full force of his version of the spell, he would severely wound the boy. At this point, she didn't have enough hate or intention to really damage Dylan, but there was enough meaning behind her words to make him writher on the floor. For now, Voldemort wanted her to get used to pronouncing the glorious spell properly, as her pronunciation would affect the effects of the spell on the victim.

"It's all in the way you move your wrist," he insisted as he leaned against his large desk. She paused and looked back at him, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding to know what she had done wrong. In theory, nothing. The boy was in pain, and that was the point of the spell. "I'm only giving you the criticism to make your curse more potent."

"Is it not potent?" Evelyn inquired, cocking her hips to the side defiantly. He knew she had hiked up her skirt before she got her, loosened her tie, and unbuttoned a few pearl buttons on her shirt. She did it to appeal to his other tastes, but Voldemort was only interested in her ability to manipulate a wand. If he took two minutes to appraise her physically, he would conclude that she was a little too thin, and her breasts were a smidge too big, even for a teenager.

However, he wasn't about to be honest with her, or anything. In fact, he wasn't about to be honest with anyone. He could, on the other hand, be a professor and a seduction artist in one go. Seduction didn't necessarily have to be sexual, in his opinion. Food could seduce unsuspecting victims just as much as men could do to women. So, he lazily pushed himself off the desk and strolled toward her, hands clasped behind his back, until he stood directly behind Evelyn. He then dipped his head down, mouth next to her ear and whispered, "Cast it again."

She did as she was told, and the Gryffindor first year squealed shrilly on the floor, his back arching off the ground as the curse ripped down to his core. Voldemort cocked his head to the side, pursed his lips, and then stepped forward so that their bodies were extremely close together. He then reached around her and placed a broad hand at the base of her neck, pushing upward a little.

"Elongate yourself," he breathed, feeling the way her skin prickled beneath his hand easily, "in order to let the magic flow through. Shoulders back, head up, voice firm…"

Voldemort kept his hand there and ignored the way her breathing hitched in her throat. With his spare hand, he reached around and slid his fingers down her wrist. Then, he delicately grabbed it and performed the proper motion for casting such a complicated spell.

"Do it again," he ordered in her ear, still keeping her in his grasp. She hesitated for a moment, her breathing heavy, and then cast the curse once more. With a slight frown, he wrinkled his nose as the boy cried out, but it barely seemed to have the effect she had before. Perhaps his presence was too overwhelming. It made her seem weak. "Your poorest one yet."

"I was distracted," Evelyn argued, her arm falling to her side as she attempted to follow him, close the space that they once had in a few swift movements. "That wasn't fair."

"Life isn't fair," he snapped, silencing her rebuttal. "There are no distractions."

"Hardly the truth-"

"Give him the potion, Evelyn."

"I thought I might try again-"

"Evelyn," he repeated, his voice softening. "We're through for the night."

He had his back to her, and for a few seconds he heard no movement. The potion sat on his desk, a bright blue vial of liquid, and he stared at it hard, waiting for her to take it. She seemed to wish to argue more, but if she had learned anything from their lessons, she would hold her tongue. Finally, the girl stalked across the room and snatched the vial off his desk. With an expressionless face, he turned back around to face Dylan.

"Stand up, Dylan," he ordered clearly. Seconds later the boy was on his feet, "Drink the potion."

Evelyn handed it to him and the boy downed it without a hint of the disgust that he was bound to feel.

"This potion will make you well," Voldemort continued, holding the boy's eye contact. "Does anything hurt?"

"No," Dylan replied meekly.

"You will forget everything that has happened tonight when I remove the curse," he told the boy, "or I'll ensure you never speak again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

The curse wasn't exactly something that could erase your memory, but Voldemort was confident that his instructions would be adequate enough to cover Evelyn and his actions that evening. He then retrieved his wand from his desk and removed Dylan's curse. The boy's body deflated a little, and his eyes were no longer wide in the wonder of the curse's effects. He seemed tired, but from what Voldemort could tell, no permanent damage had been done.

"Do you know why you are here, Pendergast?" Voldemort inquired. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Evelyn tugging down her skirt a little, a petulant frown on her lips.

"I got caught trying to get into the kitchens," the Gryffindor replied miserably. Voldemort grinned and took a seat on his desk again, arms folded.

"You did," he sighed. "I'll deduct ten points from Gryffindor for being out past your curfew, and twenty points for being caught by some bloody portraits."

"Thirty points?" the boy exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up, "But, sir-"

"I can make it more, if you are unsatisfied," Voldemort informed him. "Is that what you want?"

There was a slight pause, until, "No, sir."

"Good," he sighed, rolling his eyes a little. "You are dismissed then… be thankful I'm not giving you a detention, boy."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't let this happen again."

"I won't, sir."

"Evelyn will escort you back to the Gryffindor tower," Voldemort concluded, barely giving her a second glance, "and ensure you do not somehow find your way into the kitchens."

He then stood up and moved around his desk, taking a seat in his obnoxiously large chair. He gave neither Evelyn nor Dylan another look as the girl ushered the Gryffindor out of his office, despite the fact he could feel her eyes on him. She wanted to make up for her folly, he was sure. Next time, she would work extra hard to earn his praise, and even then he would ignore it. It was only just shortly after midnight. Dylan might question the time, but Evelyn was sure to come up with some sort of story. Voldemort was completely confident that he had gotten away with his little lesson tonight without a hitch. If Dylan tried to pin something on him should his memories miraculously disobey his body's order to keep them repressed, Voldemort was more than willing to handle the situation accordingly. The lad would take an unfortunate tumble down a long flight of stairs, and it would take some time before he fully recovered.

As he sat at his desk, he took a moment to decide what to do with himself for the rest of the night. He had a few more assignments to grade before his third year class tomorrow afternoon, but there would be plenty of time to do that in the morning. Suddenly, the corner of a file folder caught his attention. It poked out from under a stack of papers, and he tugged it free to finally examine its contents. Voldemort ordered a Ministry contact of his to pull Minerva's records from her previous employment. It would be nearly impossible to do it here, as the files were locked away in Dumbledore's office, and Voldemort wasn't about to make a friendly visit there anytime soon. So, the best way to get some extra information on his opponent here was to pull her files from the Ministry. The man delivered, as he always did, and Voldemort set it aside for later reading. That had been about a week ago, and only now did it cross his mind to read the contents.

The first few papers were fairly basic information that he could have figured out himself. She was only one year his senior, attended Hogwarts and graduated with a plethora of high marks. The woman hailed from a pureblood Scottish background, and owned a plot of land up in the highlands privately. Voldemort assumed that was her residence outside of Hogwarts. She had worked for the Ministry for a number of years in the magical law departments, and worked her way up into the position of a top-ranked attorney at law for the Ministry. There were a few shining recommendations from former colleagues and bosses, her transcripts from Hogwarts, and dozens of newspaper clippings about famous trials that she had worked on directly or indirectly. She had no marriage license, which supported his theory that she was a bit of a prude sexually, nor had she ever had any illegitimate children. Two whole parents and a brother, along with some more property that belonged to the McGonagall family in Scotland… All in all, Minerva McGonagall was a fairly boring person, as he also suspected, aside from her lucrative career in law – rare for a woman – and her carefully documented relationship with Albus Dumbledore. There were a few notes in her file about it, mostly because Dumbledore was a person of special interest for the Ministry in many ways, and he was sure anyone who was a close friend was also under consideration.

It wasn't until he got to the end that he found something of interest. There was a certificate that indicated Minerva was a registered animagus. Why on Earth would she go and register herself? What sort of selective advantage could one have if the bloody Ministry of Magic knew they could sneak around as an animal? None. However, this information did make her a little more interesting. Setting the certificate aside, he grabbed a sheet of information regarding the basics of her animagus status, and he froze when he read what form she took. Minerva McGonagall became a cat. A fucking tabby cat. Possibly the same tabby cat his portrait dragged him out of bed to attend to one night earlier in the year. That clever little witch! He almost wanted to laugh. She might have been a bid of a prude, but Minerva was a sneak.

He leaned back in his chair and grinned, closing her file for the night. An animagus. A feline animagus. Now, what did that indicate about her personality? With this new information, Voldemort decided he might be able to come up with a new plan to catch her. Hopefully he had hurt her when he flung that stupid cat out of his office.

A bloody animagus. Minerva, Minerva, so full of surprises.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**As usual, Voldemort baffles me at how easy it is for him to watch people be tortured. I think it's because he lacks empathy on that subject matter, but hey, what do I know? Just a short little blurb so we can see Evelyn again, and you all can find out what was in that folder! **

**Also, what a jerk with Evelyn, no? He makes her all hot and bothered, and then gets pissed that she can't do the curse properly. Well OBVIOUSLY. I'd be pretty distracted to if a guy I was over the moon about –cough- decided to cozy up next to me. **

**Thanks to everyone that reviews regularly. Makes me really happy! **


	16. We'll spend an hour

Minerva finally caught him. She might have missed her opportunity in the past to catch Tom Riddle doing something that would get him into trouble. In fact, over the course of November, she had caught him in several inappropriate places around the castle. On any random day, she might spot him wandering out of Myrtle's bathroom, but always vanish down a hall before she could catch him. There were no portraits around to justify her observations, nor did she ever catch him when there were students around. He roamed the Forbidden corridors on the upper floors, ones that were off limits to all students and a few of the younger staff members. He sauntered back in from strolls in the Forbidden Forest at all hours, which she spotted when making her way back to her chambers from grading in the staff room. He conversed with a few students privately quite often, though none of them were willing to tell her about their discussions. His duelling club was in full swing, but she always noticed a certain pattern when it came to announcing the winners the following Monday. There was definitely a lot she could catch him for, but she didn't have the concrete proof she wanted, or needed, to fully take him down a notch around the castle. Naturally, Dumbledore would believe anything she told him and wouldn't need the proof she desired. Unfortunately, Riddle was a slippery one. He could talk his way out of anything, it seemed, and even had her doubting herself on occasions.

However, when the second week of December hit, the week before the winter final exams, Minerva caught him. In a seventh year lecture, Tom Riddle openly criticized the Ministry to the point where he was encouraging the students to actively join protest groups on their holidays to send a message. From the looks on some of her pupils' faces, she assumed that many had taken his message to heart. It wasn't that she was opposed to criticizing the Ministry. In fact, Minerva wholly believed in freedom of speech and expression. Everyone had a right to their opinions regarding the government, and even she had some reservations about many of the laws standardized over the recent years. However, the law Riddle seemed so against had to do with half-breed and their danger to society, making not so subtle references towards Hagrid, and implying that most things of mixed blood ought not to exist. With all the blood purity nonsense in the general public and media these days, he shouldn't have said anything to that nature in front of a group of impressionable young adults. They ought to read the media, all forms of it, for themselves so they could make their own informed decisions. Professors could certainly have their stance on public affairs, but they had to be neutral in the classroom. They were figures of authority, after all, and one word from some of them could send a student in the completely wrong direction. As she watched the seventh years file out of the room, chattering noisily amongst each other, she knew something had to be said. This wasn't enough to take to Dumbledore. He wasn't being a danger, just a bad influence. Therefore, she decided to speak with him privately.

Unfortunately, he was running a tutoring session for his third years, who had failed his last exam miserably for some odd reason, and would be preoccupied for the remainder of the day. However, seeing as it was a Friday, and neither were on patrol that week, he offered to meet with her in her classroom when he was finished. She actually preferred her classroom to her office. The space was less intimate there, in the lofty room with numerous desks and magical items. Her office was small, like his, and put them in too close a proximity. At this point in time, being close to him almost made her a little uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, but in a way she knew wasn't exactly appropriate for two staff members, friends or not. She wasn't developing feelings for him, as far as she could tell anyway, but there was definitely something else brewing in her mind about Tom, and it made her uneasy. The way her cheeks flared when he smiled his charming smile at her was enough to drive her insane. She didn't mean for it to happen. It must have been some stupid physiological response for all the times she had embarrassed herself in front of him in such a short term.

Ever since Hogsmeade, she felt like there had been some sort of shift in their relationship. He seemed to make much of an effort to be friendly with her, even though she tried to rebuke him whenever possible. Apparently, Tom Riddle was just as stubborn as she was, and he continued to find ways to be near her whenever she tried to avoid him. It was an odd dichotomy. In a way, she wanted to watch him all the time, because she wanted to know what he was doing that required him to be so mysterious. Yet, she wanted him to bugger off sometimes. He had had a habit of sitting too close, reaching around her to grab things, borrowing her quills whenever they were grading together, or commenting on her appearance, even though she was sure she hadn't done anything different to warrant a compliment. Other times, he was quite short with her. His moods fluctuated rapidly, even over the course of a lesson, and she knew many of his students went into the classroom without knowing exactly what to expect. They were much more hesitant to answer questions when he fired them out in a surly way, eyes narrowed in on the poor soul who would be his victim for the remainder of class if they got an answer wrong. It was a good way to get them to do their work, naturally, but Minerva worried it might deter some of the shy, but intellectually gifted, students from responding when they knew the answer. He was a good professor, all that aside, and in her end of term report, Minerva fully intended to tell Dumbledore just that.

There was still something off about him, undoubtedly, and she wouldn't rest until she discovered what it was. However, in terms of suitableness for the job, Tom Riddle certainly fit the description of a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, down to the very last detail. However, he needed to watch the way he threw his opinions out, especially in front of students more aware of the politic climate outside the school. Had he said the same thing to a room full of second years, Minerva might have let it slide. However, encouraging rebellion from students who, in several short months, would be graduated and facing the real world, seemed a little too far in her opinion. She didn't want to mother him, nor police him, but since he seemed to consider her more than an associate at this point – Minerva was still on the fence – she felt like she finally might be able to approach him about it without him losing his temper completely. Everyone else on the staff seemed to think he had mellowed out considerably since September.

And by everyone, she meant Pomona. The woman was really the only one she spoke to about Tom, as it seemed like the rest of the staff seemed to think the pair might turn into an item by Christmas. Well, not if Minerva could help it. There was nothing wrong with finding the man attractive, but she couldn't see herself doing what Pomona and Horace were up to behind closed doors. It was too… inappropriate for her taste. Perhaps she was a prude, she thought dully.

Whatever she might be, Minerva knew she had to follow the rules, though for a certain time they could be twisted a little. For example, she ought to have gone straight to Albus with news of Riddle's foul from his lesson. Instead, she thought that a warning would be suffice for now, and if it happened again, it was strike two. One final event where she had proof, like a classroom full of students, and she would haul him down to Albus Dumbledore's office and toss him in. After that, he was no longer any of her concern.

She spent the rest of the afternoon teaching one more lesson, and then marking papers in the staff room. Dinner was enjoyed with Pomona and Poppy, and she heard the rumours flitting around the professor's bench that as the last Friday night before final exams, and subsequently the holidays home with family, there might be some students sneaking around after curfew. It happened last year. While it was harmless, Minerva thought it was a little stupid for several groups of upper year students to try to break into Horace's liquor cabinet in his office and spend the night getting pleasantly sloshed. The professors figured they might have gotten smarter this year, and as Pomona and Minerva left to spend some time grading in the staff room, they promised to keep an eye out for any inappropriate behaviour in the hallways. Now, she wasn't in duty tonight, so she wouldn't actively go searching through abandoned classrooms in an attempt to find anyone. If things got out of control, she was more than happy to put down her work for a little while to help wrangle whoever was stupid enough to let their presence be known and then decide a suitable punishment.

When the appropriate hour that she and Tom had agreed upon drew nearer, she gathered up her belongings and moved into her classroom. With all her papers spread out across her desk, Minerva finished correcting a few written assignments, and moved on to making the rough mark-up of an exam outline that she intended to give out to all of her second years when the time came. Her door was open so that Riddle knew to come straight in whenever he arrived. In a way, it almost felt like she was waiting to give a detention. The feeling was strange, but not one she was unaccustomed to. In fact, she could feel herself tensing, just as she did before a student arrived, her mind racing with the speech that she mentally prepared to seem in control of the situation. She heard footsteps in the hallway, heavy ones, and she assumed they belonged to Riddle. After all, it was nearly ten-thirty, and students should be in bed by now. The candles around her room flickered happily, hot wax rolling down the sides. None had run low just yet, as they were thick enough to last the majority of the year.

The footsteps finally stopped in her doorway, but when she looked up, it was not Tom Riddle that stood there. Instead, a slightly dishevelled Roger Wood leaned against the doorframe, the top buttons of his white dress shirt open, his tie loose around his neck.

"For Merlin's sake, Wood," Minerva snapped, rising to her feet quickly and pointing at the large clock on the wall behind her desk. "Have you any idea what time it is?"

"I jus' thought I might come see you," he informed her, somewhat incoherently stumbling into the room. "I saw the light on in here, like you were waiting."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped indignantly, her eyes widening as he tripped a little over a desk leg, "Are you drunk, Wood?"

"We picked some sauce up in Hogsmeade for the team," Roger explained with a shrug. "I wish you could've joined us-"

"That would be highly inappropriate, almost as much as this is," Minerva informed him pointedly, her hands now on her hips. "I'm going to have to punish you for this, Wood. Drinking on school grounds? Out after curfew? I'm disappointed. I wouldn't have expected-"

"It was just a little bit o'fun," he sighed, stopping a few rows away from her, "Minerva."

"What did you just say?" she exclaimed, her eyes narrowing to slits, "That is _Professor McGonagall_ to you, Wood!"

"I thought we might be more than that," he managed to explain, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, we've been training like mates all term, and las' term, and then Hogsmeade trips-"

"Do _not_ mistake our friendship, one that is proper between a professor and student, for something it is not," she told him sharply.

Riddle's voice suddenly rung out in the back of her head that the lad had a crush on her, one that was obvious enough for Tom to see without fully knowing the extent of their relationship. She had always suspected it, but she thought if she never addressed it the little crush might just disappear on its own. After all, she recalled having a mild crush on Albus back in her school days, but that vanished in a matter of weeks as they soon fell into a more paternal kind of relationship. She had hoped that might have been the case with Roger Wood.

Apparently not. Apparently, this needed to be addressed head on if she wanted to officially deter the boy. It was clear now that she could no longer practice with the team, at least not as often, and would reserve any time on the pitch for chasers only. It was unfortunate, but judging by the look in his eye, it was clearly necessary.

"I know why you'd say no," he argued, "because you're good. You're good, and kind, and smart, and you follow the rules because you've to do..."

"Stop this at once-"

"I just think we can make it work fine," Wood continued, his voice almost pleading with her. "I've been in lo-"

"Don't you dare say it," she threatened, pointing her finger at him dangerously. "Wood, stop this at once!"

"I can't keep it in anymore," he proclaimed. "Drunk words a-are sober thoughts!"

"Thoughts, no matter your state of inebriation, can be unnecessary," she snapped, taking a step back when he moved toward her, arms outstretched. "Wood, you will be punished if you-"

"Do whatever you want!" he all but shouted, "It's not going to stop what I feel for you!"

Her cheeks tinged, completely ashamed at the situation she was enduring. She had worked so hard not to be the young, female professor that boys might lust over. Mind you, she never thought of herself to be someone any man would completely lust over, but somehow that notion seemed lost on Roger Wood. Shaking her head, she looked over her shoulder for the briefest of seconds to find her wand on her desk, just in case, and she presented him with the opportunity he had clearly been waiting for. Minerva suddenly felt a pair of hands fumble around her face roughly, turning her head back to face him, and she squealed involuntarily when Wood rammed his lips to hers.

Mortified, Minerva tried to wrestle herself free, but he was a young man in his teenage prime, trained through Quidditch, and just a smidge taller than she. If she had only gotten her wand the second he came in, she might have been able to toss him away like a ragdoll. Instead, he held her firmly to his lips, hands clenched over either side of her face, the stench of alcohol rank in her flared nostrils. She tried valiantly to push him off, her body away from his as much as possible, and couldn't help but think what a compromising situation she was in with the door completely ajar. Finally, she kicked him solidly in the shines, making the boy yelp and release her face. Minerva turned around quickly in an attempt to grab her wand, but he caught her by the waist and pulled her back.

"Please, don't worry about the consequences," Wood babbled as she struggled against him. "We won't get caught-"

"Wood!" she grunted, wrenching her nails into his arms in an attempt to bring him back to reality from his clearly drunken state, "Stop this at once!"

He latched onto her hair this time with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around her slim waist, and attempted to turn her face back to him with his hands kneaded into her hair. She had worn it in a ponytail, which had loosened over the course of the day, and she cried out a little when he pulled a clump of hair loose from the tie. She could scream for help, because the situation was clearly escalating faster than she was able to handle. On the other hand, she would be absolutely horrified if anyone saw this ridiculous episode unfolding. It was embarrassing that she hadn't diffused the situation sooner, and she was thoroughly embarrassed that a student had managed to actually kiss her against her will. At the back of her mind, she knew Wood wouldn't try to go any further, especially if he had such strong feelings for her, but she couldn't risk any further groping.

Suddenly, a flash of light illuminated the room, and Minerva stumbled free as Wood was tossed across the classroom, colliding with some desks. She gripped her own for balance and hastily turned back to see Riddle standing at the back of her classroom just inside the door, wand up, eyes darting back and forth between Minerva and a fallen Wood. She must have looked like a disaster. Her hair was torn from its holdings and she was sure she looked equally bewildered facially. It must have taken him all of two seconds to deduce that he had not just walked in on some not-so-secret rendezvous, but rather some incident that had gone horribly wrong.

"Are you all right?" he demanded as he stalked across the room toward Wood, his tone rather abrupt. She nodded, her breathing heavy, and then pursed her lips as he hauled the boy up by the scruff of his collar.

"Don't… Don't be too rough," she protested weakly. "He's really drunk-"

"I could smell him down the hall," Riddle sneered as he dragged Wood toward the door, who seemed a little too dazed from the fall to put up much of a fight. "Stay here."

"What are you-"

"Just stay here!" Tom snapped, shutting the door noisily behind him. He almost seemed angry with her, though that couldn't be right. Minerva leaned back against her desk and hugged herself. Lengthy dark auburn hair, almost brown now from lack of summer sunlight, rolled down her shoulders, but she couldn't bring herself to fix it.

What was she supposed to do with this mess? Roger was a good boy. He was always so polite, caring, and truly involved in both his academic and social circles. An incident like this could botch his record for the rest of his life, considering one's Hogwarts file was all future employers looked at for a first job out of school. However, he had essentially attacked a professor on campus, nearly sexually assaulted her if one might put it out there, and consumed copious amounts of alcohol during school hours. Dumbledore would have to hear about this, but she would plead the case delicately. Unfortunately, with the way Tom looked as he dragged the boy off, she wasn't sure if he would do the same. When she finally decided she ought to go find the pair, the door to her classroom opened and Riddle slipped back in, shutting it behind him.

For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She was absolutely humiliated. Minerva always strived to put herself above any sort of female stereotype that hampered her performance, both in the work place at Hogwarts and at the Ministry. Never had she once felt ashamed or frowned upon because of her gender, but tonight she did. She felt momentarily weakened somehow, and it was a gut-wrenching feeling. Tom loved to hold things over her head, and she couldn't stand the thought of this being something new. Remember the time he had to rescue you from nearly being assaulted by a student? Oh yes, that was splendid.

"I put him in the Hospital Wing," he informed her as he strolled up the aisle of desks. "Pomfrey said a few of his friends were already there sleeping off their alcohol. You may decide his punishment with the Headmaster as you see fit."

She stared at the floor, hands gripping her arms tightly, and she nodded, "Yes, thank you."

Riddle came to a stop close enough for her to examine his shoes for a moment. A tentative hand touched her arm lightly, and she flinched, mostly surprised at the sudden contact. Minerva looked up, her eyes meeting his, and he cocked an eyebrow, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm… I'm fine," she told him with a nod, a small smile forced onto her lips. "Thank you for the concern."

"It was hardly something I could just ignore."

"I know."

"You are allowed to be upset, Minerva."

"I am, but I'm fine," she muttered. "Don't worry."

"I might a little," he insisted, suddenly brushing the hair away from the left side of her face, tucking it behind her shoulder. "You really need to start keeping your wand on you… Haven't I told you before?"

She frowned a little, "You have."

"Advice you'll take to heart from now on, eh?" he mused, two fingers fiddling with thick strands of her hair. "I've never seen you with your hair down. Why don't you do it more often?"

"To avoid situations like that," Minerva answered quickly, acutely aware that he had inched in a little closer, their voices soft as they spoke with one another. The one hand that had touched her arm now grazed along it, and she wondered if he meant for it to be a gesture of comfort. It made her skin prickle. He suddenly curled a lock of her hair around his finger, and Minerva stiffened at the familiarity it implied, "Tom…"

He seemed to ignore her, and Minerva's eyes widened when he dipped his head down just a hint. She quickly put a hand on his chest, ready to diffuse _this_ situation before it turned into a repeat of the last one, "Tom, do I need to find someone to throw _you_ off too?"

The man released her hair quickly and she darted around him, leaving her wand and paperwork behind as she marched toward the door, her small heels the only noise in the vast room until he called for her.

"You said you wanted to speak with me."

She paused, her hands on the doorknob, and looked back at him. Riddle seemed perfectly composed in front of her desk, as if none of that had just happened, and she licked her lips, unsure of what to think about at this point. Finally, she shook her head, "It wasn't important."

And with that, she left, hastily making a retreat for the safety of her room.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Oh, Tom. One step forward, two steps back. I just wanted to shout, DUDE, TOO SOON! But that would ruin the tension, no? I'll leave it up to you to picture Minerva's reactions to the most recent events that had transpired between them, because it's going to come to a startling point in the next chapter, which will be Christmas at Hogwarts. **

**I personally think Tom is so inappropriate that it's funny, but hey, I don't think he realizes that. I'm sure he had the White Knight vision rolling in his head as a justification for trying to sneak a kiss. Or, you know, other devious, delicious plans because he's like that. **

**Thanks, as always, for those who give me a steady review with each chapter. I'll give a special mention when it comes to the end, but you all know who you are. I sincerely appreciate it, and look forward to it every time I post something! Love, love, love!**


	17. But no more than two

Minerva had mixed feelings now that the December exam period had finally come to an end. For the most part, she was pleased. All of her exams had been written in a timely fashion before this past week hit, and she was relaxed as her students filed in to write their tests on the specific date. From what she could gauge reaction-wise, no one suffered immensely. Her December exams were a little easier than the midterm ones, only because she wanted to build their confidence back up to start the new year in January. Yes, there were a few keen Ravenclaw students from all years that came up to have a quick debate with her over some of the questions once the exams were finished, but she handled them deftly and professionally, promising to go over everything once the papers were handed back when they returned to school. For now, they would just have to debate the validity of the questions over amongst themselves, and see their marks later. None of the first years looked mortified this time around, and she was fairly sure no one had completely failed. It was odd how calm and smooth the week had been, considering her horrible Friday night just before it seemed almost like an omen that things were going to turn our terribly.

She had tried her best to put everything from her ridiculous incident with Roger Wood and Tom Riddle behind her almost the second she got back to her room that night. The following week proceeded with a red-faced Wood, and a seemingly irritated Riddle. Minerva hadn't really spoken to either of them at great length, but she had the opportunity to spend more time around Tom, and she found he was suddenly much colder to her than he had been. They no longer saw each other at dinner, nor did they sit alone in the staff room marking papers. Her very small portion of vanity insisted that he was embarrassed that she had rejected his advances, but her more logical side, the dominant chunk of her brain, told her that he was a man too complicated to read, and clearly they hadn't been as close as she previously thought. So, with a shrug of her shoulders, she found herself ignoring him too, aside from shooting a curious glance his way whenever she caught him in hushed whispers with students in the hallway. However, they were both too busy for anything out of the ordinary, and almost every professor, Riddle included, spent the week either monitoring their exam, or helping another professor keep an eye on a different one. It was nice to get a break from teaching, but it felt like she was busier than ever, despite the fact she spent most of her time sitting at the front of a room reading while students wrote feverishly in front of her. She tried to get into Riddle's examinations, but when the schedule came up, she found they conflicted with most of hers. Vector and Slughorn were the lucky two who got to watch the Defense Against the Dark Arts students write their papers, while only added to her week of not seeing him.

Although it was against her better judgment, Minerva told Dumbledore to excuse Wood's behaviour. The other members of the Quidditch team only got a light slap on the wrist for drunken conduct in the common room. None had wandered out like Wood had, but Minerva kept her details on the incident light. He was a good lad, despite his gross error in judgment while intoxicated, and she didn't want to see anything foul end up on his permanent record. They hadn't spoken at all since the incident, which made sense as he was writing exams for the entire week, and Minerva almost preferred it that way. She was a little angry at him for the incident, but she knew alcohol made everyone do strange things. It gave them the leeway to act on instincts they normally kept hidden. Mostly, Minerva felt embarrassed. Never before had anyone ever made her feel so weak in this castle, and it occurred over almost nothing. So a boy got a little frisky… Who cares? Most women would be flattered that young men were still interested, but Minerva certainly wasn't most women. She wore high collars on her dresses for the rest of the week, with her hair back in a severe bun, and a grim expression on her face. She was not, and _never_ would be a sexual object. She almost felt bitter that Wood had momentarily turned her into one, and then Riddle reinforced it. When she managed to lock herself back in her room, she almost had to pinch herself to make sure everything had actually happened, that it wasn't some stupid dream.

Dumbledore listened intently when she told her story, and he waited for her to make her recommendation. Minerva was certain that the older man knew exactly what she was going to say. He gave Wood a detention and deducted a few more house points from him than anyone else, but the headmaster informed everyone it was because he wandered the halls and bothered the portraits after curfew. Anything regarding Minerva was dropped. He asked her a few times if that was what she wanted, but they both knew that it was the right decision. Wood was a good boy. This was an incident that would probably never, ever happen again in his entire life, and wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been sloshed like some drunkard at the Three Broomsticks.

As the week drew to an end, and students finished all their exams, Minerva and Pomona, along with Hagrid, were in charge of seeing everyone off to the trains. While the other two manned the pathway at two spots, Minerva waited at the castle doors, giving instructions to first years about how to get to the station whenever she spotted them. It was a chilly Saturday afternoon, the light hidden behind a thick array of clouds, and a small dusting of snow on the castle grounds. For the most part, all of the students were headed home, except for a few that were welcome to stay behind. Wrapped up in a thick green tartan cloak, she smiled as a group of students wished her a pleasant holiday, and waved them off as they hurried through the courtyard.

"Professor McGonagall?"

She turned back to find the source of the voice, only to feel her smile weaken when her eyes met Roger Wood's. Giving him a nod, she glanced down at her slim wrist watch, "You should get going, Wood, or you'll miss the train."

"I know," he insisted, "but I just thought I should say something."

"It's not necessary," Minerva told him quickly, not wanting to cause any sort of scene. He stepped closer to her and shook his head.

"No, it is," he said decidedly. "I was completely out of line… I don't remember much of that night, but Professor Riddle filled me in. I just… I would have never done that. I don't know what came over me-"

"I know," she said, more kindly than she originally intended. "You're a good boy, Wood. You're an excellent student, a stellar Quidditch captain, and an all-around pleasant individual."

"You're making me blush," he joked, a lopsided smirk on his lips. "I just wanted to apologize. It wasn't me, it won't ever be again… To be honest, I don't even remember how I got to your classroom. It's all a bit of a blur… Apparently you really can black out when you're that drunk."

"I don't want to know the details," Minerva mused, holding up a hand to stop him, "or I'll be forced to tell the headmaster _just _how intoxicated you were."

His smirk turned into a full grin, and she absently tucked her stray hairs behind her ear. Despite the fact that her bun was rather tight in the morning, it had a tendency to loosen as the day went on. She cleared her throat, "But, all that considered, I think I should stop coaching with you-"

"No, no, please don't punish the team," Wood argued. "The girls are ten times better with you helping out, and I don't think I could do it without you."

"Don't be silly," she mused, rolling her eyes a little. "The other teams don't have professors helping."

"Slytherin has Riddle, and Ravenclaw has Hooch," he informed her, ticking them off on his fingers, "and Hufflepuff… gets by, I guess. But we need you."

"I just don't think it's a good idea after what happened," Minerva said quietly, her face carefully neutral as she waved farewell to another group of students. "It doesn't seem appropriate."

"If that's how you feel, why don't we have separate coaching sessions?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "I mean, we don't have to do it together… It'll make practice boring, because I think we have fun-"

"Wood," she started, arching an eyebrow. He grinned again.

"Look, you're a good coach, and I was a complete idiot for what happened," he finished, rustling about in his bag for something. "I bought you a Christmas present… I am genuinely sorry… I just want us to forget it happened."

"I like that idea," Minerva remarked, still careful with her tone. "I'll stay on to coach, but only for private lessons with the chasers. I think that's fair."

"Agreed."

"Now go," she chuckled, "or you'll miss the train!"

Wood laughed and suddenly stuffed a small parcel into her hands, "Happy Christmas, Professor."

"Happy Christmas," she returned weakly. Luckily there wasn't really anyone around, and as he raced off through the courtyard, she almost wanted to throw the package back at him. He shouldn't be getting her gifts of any kind. In a way, it felt like he was trying to buy her forgiveness. She knew he couldn't do that, but the thought still nagged at her as she swept back into the castle and out of the cold, her cheeks pink from the wind. When she was sure she was alone, Minerva leaned back against the wall and carefully undid the wrapping, which was nothing more than a silk bow, and apprehensively lifted the lid of the brown box. Inside she found a brand new pair of Quidditch gloves, with leather grips and padding. A smile spread across her lips as she read what was scribbled on the lid in Wood's characteristic handwriting.

_Yours were looking kind of ratty last time I saw them. Thought you should stop embarrassing yourself out there and wear some proper gloves. _

_Happy Christmas, Minerva. _

_Roger _

She found it highly inappropriate to use her first name, but in a way it still made her smile. It was a bit of a flirty message, yes, but with their odd little relationship sorted from that quick chat, Minerva was willing to overlook it, but only for now. After all, she wasn't going to keep the box. Once she was back in her room, she tossed it in the trash can, and set the gloves in her closet with the rest of her gear. Once the season picked up again, they were bound to come in handy with the winter chill. Still, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. The audacity of that boy to give her this gift, even after all that had happened, was a little trying. However, she decided to put it out of her mind, and save any sort of little chat that would necessary for when he returned. No more notes, and no more calling her by her first name, even in writing.

With the rest of her evening essentially free, Minerva stripped down and soaked in her obnoxiously small bathtub for a good hour, happy for a chance to finally relax. It was the first time this entire term that she didn't feel guilty for not huddling over a mass of papers and grading something. Gus joined her, though from the rim, and poked at the bubbles whenever they floated in his general direction. She gave the cat a few pats, but he seemed less than impressed with her wet hand, and soon left her for the comforts of her mass of pillows. When she finished with her bath, the water tepid and no longer enjoyable, Minerva glanced at her clock and decided to drift down for dinner. Dressed in a plain black dress, one without hefty sleeves or a massive skirt, Minerva strolled the cool hallways with a soft smile on her face. For one day, she intended to relax. The majority of her students were gone, her friends were here for a celebratory drink in the staff room tonight, and Minerva didn't need to even think about grading her massive pile of exam papers until tomorrow. For once, her body was relaxed. She wore her slightly damp hair up in a high ponytail, opting out of the bun that had been giving her headaches for the past week, and soon joined Albus and Hagrid for an early dinner in the Great Hall. As usual, Riddle was conspicuously absent.

After dinner, she migrated up to the library, where she found a few good fiction novels to read on her spare time during the holidays, and then back to her room. She then spent a ridiculous amount of time enchanting things for Gus to chase, as she felt like she had neglected him lately. He seemed to enjoy her attempts at play, and humoured her by rolling around on his back for a while as she dangled one of his feather-string toys above him. However, he was an older cat, and eventually grew tired of her shenanigans. Instead, he opted for curling up on her lap and purring noisily as she stroked him, which also suited her just fine. He wasn't a kitten anymore, and she was thankful that he didn't want to be played with like one all the time. It was really quite exhausting to do so. When she finally shooed him off, she settled into bed to read for an hour or so, which was lovely when it had nothing to do with academics. Around quarter to eleven, Minerva dragged herself away from the book and decided to make an appearance in the staff room. Just like last year, all the professors, and staff members, planned to get together for a celebration now that the first half of the year was finished.

She strolled in to the warmth and drunken greetings of her co-workers, who had clearly already been celebrating from the time the trains left. Grinning, she settled in amongst them, squished on a small couch with Pomona and Poppy, and happily accepted a drink from Vector. After a quick scan of the room, she noticed everyone was in, or had apparently filtered in at some point during the night, except for Riddle. Shaking her head, she tried to figure out what was wrong with him, but for tonight, she decided she wasn't going to care. Even Albus seemed lost in a noisy chess game with Horace at the far end of the room, a few of the caretakers huddled around them whispering words of encouragement.

Something suddenly caught her eye, and Minerva smirked, "What is that?"

She pointed at the door, which had three mistletoe sprigs strung up to cover the entire doorframe. Pomona grinned, her cheeks suddenly a dark pink, and she shrugged, "I thought it would make tonight a little more fun. Albus already kissed Poppy-"

"What?" Minerva gasped, shooting the head nurse a scandalized look. The woman giggled into her drink, and then shook her head.

"On the cheek, mind you," Pomona sighed, seemingly put out. "They walked in one behind the other… So it couldn't count for as much."

"You're ridiculous," Minerva mused, taking another sip of her drink. Pomona then pushed the glass up a little, forcing her to chug back some more, and then winked.

"You need to drink more. It's time to celebrate! No students for two whole weeks!"

Minerva sighed, but knew that the woman was right. If she wanted to have a little fun with the rest of them, tonight was the night to do it. So, she downed the rest of her drink and then went to get another one from the make-shift bar near Albus' chess game.

"Are you winning, Albus?" she asked as she mixed herself a drink, adding a little more alcohol than she would normally take. Albus chuckled softly as Slughorn gave an indignant growl, and then barked at his pawn to go to forward and take one of his opponent's.

"He got off to a lucky start," Horace grumbled, "but those who do well in the start don't last long!"

She smiled when Albus shot her a bit of a look, and then ordered his castle to take Horace's pawn, which it did so quite mercilessly. Slughorn glared, and then returned his focus to the game, which seemed to intensify the longer he had a bigger audience. Giving the headmaster's shoulder a friendly rub, Minerva decided to pay Hagrid a visit and ask him about how his gardens faired before the most recent snow hit. She found it was always a little easier to have longer conversations with the half-giant when she had some alcohol in her. He seemed happy as ever to discuss his affairs, and went on to tell her about the pair of dogs he had purchased to roam the borders of the Forbidden Forest. They were only puppies at this point, but one day they would be excellent guard dogs. So very, very interesting indeed. Minerva nodded politely and kept sipping at her drink, until suddenly it was gone, and she needed another. At that point, Horace looked like he was about to throw his chess board across the room, and she was sure it was because Albus continued to look serene throughout the game, oblivious to Slughorn's bitterness at losing.

Four drinks later, and Minerva had hit her happy place. She hadn't actually gotten drunk in quite some time, and she almost forgot what it felt like. Naturally, she was going to hate herself in the morning. The hangovers seemed to get worse after she hit twenty-four or so, and at this point they were brutal if she went too far over her limit. In her drunken haze, which wasn't as bad as some people in the staff room, she remembered that she hadn't taken the time to make any sorts of potions for the morning. Therefore, she might stumble down to Slughorn sometime around noon tomorrow and beg him for something to take the hangover away. He was always the person to go to about things like that.

Well after midnight, the dynamics had shifted around the room. Most of the couches were occupied, the record player at the latest tune blaring out with a few huddled around it to sing, and Pomona had found permanent spot with Horace at a private spot near the back. Albus wished her a pleasant sleep about ten minutes ago, and apologized for not staying longer, but he wasn't in the mood for a terribly late night. It figures; whenever she tried to drink with him, he was usually the sober one, and vice versa.

Maybe he still saw her as a student. She frowned and finished the rest of her drink. Maybe she ought to tell him she wasn't some little girl anymore. Maybe. Maybe he knew that, and she was just being irrational. Still, she felt like she ought to tell him, just remind him that he could lose himself a little with her. It wouldn't hurt, right?

Stumbling to her feet, she managed to navigate her way through the staff room, knocking into a few people in the process. They all chuckled lightheartedly, drunkenly swaying themselves a bit, until Minerva finally found a clear path to the door. However, just as she stepped into the darkened doorframe, her body collided with another figure.

"Oh," she cried, surprised at the sudden intrusion into her personal space. "Sorry!"

She looked up and saw Tom shoot her a bit of a glare, and then try to step past her, but Pomona got to him first from Merlin knows where.

"Mistletoe!" Pomona shouted cheerily, earning a round a raucous laughter from the room, "I knew I'd catch someone!"

Tom rolled his eyes and tried to brush it off, but Vector gave him a bit of a drunken nudge back, batting her eyes at him, "Don't leave a girl waiting, Riddle!"

Minerva felt her cheeks tint suddenly, but as their co-workers tried to pressure him into staying under the ridiculous plant with her, she sensed his irritation with the situation would only rise further. So, she tugged on the sleeve of his jacket, more forcefully than she intended, and caught him off guard just enough to plant a kiss on his thinly pressed lips. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't anything. It was just a bit of fun, and she laughed when she heard the room erupt in a cheer. With her hands cupping his face, she finally pulled back and noticed his arms were stiff at his sides. Rolling her eyes, she smiled at Pomona, as if her gag was just _brilliant_, and then waved off the rest of the staff, "Good night, you sods!"

She heard laughter echo down the corridor behind her as she stumbled away from the staff room, using the walls and railings to keep her balanced until she was out in the hallway. It was incredibly dark, but her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit staff room some time ago, and navigating the familiar halls wasn't all that difficult. As she walked, slowly than usual to keep her balance, Minerva heard something distantly. For a second, she paused, and it sounded like footsteps, which grew louder and louder with each passing second. She frowned, and when she turned around, she gasped when someone grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into an empty classroom. She heard the door slam behind her, and she managed to wiggle free from her assailant's grip, only to scoff at him when he flicked his wand at a nearby torch. The flame lit Tom's face awkwardly, shadowing half of it, but it was plain to see that he looked irate. Even in her alcohol addled state, she knew he looked angry.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Riddle," she snapped, in no mood to deal with his surliness. It was going to spoil her buzz! "It was just a silly joke by a bunch of drunkards… You can't possibly be mad at me!"

She stared at him as he paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, her eyes wide in bewilderment over his ridiculous reactions to the simplest things. Minerva licked her lips, hands on her hips, and tapped her foot impatiently waiting for a response. However, he continued to pace, as though he hadn't heard her, and she decided she wasn't going to wait around for him to finally find his wording.

"Really, it couldn't have been that bad," she snapped, referring to the kiss, which he didn't even reciprocate, "and no one's going to remember it in the morning, so just get over yourself."

With no response, again, Minerva decided she may as well leave. Rolling her eyes at him, she started to move at the exact same moment she did. Without warning, he stalked over to her and dipped his head down, his lips meeting hers in an abrupt kiss. Minerva inhaled sharply, momentarily stunned at the turn of events, but she felt no urge to pull away. He was certainly responsive this time around, and she found herself fall into an easy rhythm. One arm wrapped around her waist while his spare hand cupped her cheek, pulling her impossibly close to his body. His lips were cold, but Minerva's body tingled at the sensation. He tasted like peppermint and smelled like rich cologne, neither of which she had ever noticed on him before. They fumbled backward, her arms curled between their bodies, until Minerva felt herself nudge into a desk. She broke their kiss momentarily to look back, and then gasped when he hoisted her up and stepped between her legs, the rage no longer present on his face. She bit her lower lip lightly, and then leaned up to kiss him again, her lips parting for his advances without hesitation.

Minerva hadn't kissed many men in her life, and never when she was intoxicated. It felt much more liberating to have a little alcohol in her system, though she probably smelled like a bar. No man had ever kissed her like this. Men were chaste for their first kiss, keeping their lips closed and hands in appropriate places. Minerva almost squealed when his tongue ran over hers, and his hand tugged up the skirt of her dress to her thighs, revealing the stockings and garter that lay below. When he slipped a cold finger under the contraption, Minerva pulled away again, slightly breathless.

"Wait," she whispered, needing a moment to collect herself and her thoughts.

"Why?"

He planted a few firm kisses on her pale neck, one no longer covered by her high collared dress. Had she opted to wear one of those, he might have had a little more difficulty. Tom brought his gaze back to her, and then ran his thumb lightly over her lower lip. She felt completely unable to move as he touched her, and her eyes drifted shut when he leaned down and kiss her again. His hand slid around and gripped her ponytail while the other was suddenly on her hips, dragging her forward on the desk so that she was pressed right up to him. It was only when that hand came back around and slid up her bare thigh that she found a dose of reality somewhere. She might have been drunk, but she knew she couldn't do this with Tom Riddle. She just couldn't…

She pushed against his chest suddenly and pulled her head back, shaking it as she tried to pry his hand away from her legs.

"I'm drunk."

"You're fine," he insisted, a hand still around her ponytail, but she managed to slip off the desk and untangle herself from him.

"I can't."

"Why?" he asked again as she stumbled away, her footing a little better this time.

"Because you're you, and this isn't right," she told him. A small grin on his face, he sauntered toward her, closing the gap between them in a few steps, and dragged her up into another kiss. She eagerly responded against her own wishes, wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on the very tips of her toes to meet him. Despite that short amount of time, she found that kissing him was addictive. She wanted more, even though she knew she couldn't. He walked them so that her back was eventually pressed against the wall, but Minerva knew she had to end it when she felt him going for her legs again.

It took everything she had, but she managed to pull herself away one last time, "No."

His grip loosened, and Minerva slipped away, going straight for the door before he could say anything. Without another look, she hurried out. This wasn't good. No, this wasn't good at all. Not only was she going to be horribly hung over in the morning, Minerva was going to hate herself.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**THIS was the chapter I've wanted to write since I started this story. It wasn't quite how I pictured it, but this scene was the one that really inspired me to launch myself head first into this. The muse loves me… I have so much fun writing it, and I'm sorry the update took so long. **

**I think Wood and Riddle managed to redeem themselves in this chapter, but only just barely. Can't wait to write my next Voldemort POV chapter. This one's a doozy of Voldemort personality all wrapped up in one silly ball. **

**Thank you again for all the lovely reviews! This one is HOT off the presses. I have been sitting and writing for about four consecutive hours on this chapter which I thought might take a few days to do… So… yeay!**


	18. Our only chance to speak once more

Minerva hadn't felt this foolish in quite some time. Previously, it was when she was caught canoodling with an intern at the Ministry by her boss, who happened to have a soft spot for her at the time. Everyone involved was mortified, and Minerva swore to herself she wouldn't get into that sort of situation again. It wasn't as though it was a frequent occurrence back then, but Minerva felt like her employer looked at her differently afterward. His comments were succinct, his eyes cold, and he seemed forever in a snit with her. Not only that, but she was partially privy to the gossip floating around her office at the time, and she hated the reputation one small incident had spawned for her. After all, she hadn't had a boyfriend since Hogwarts, let alone found herself locked in some supply closet with anyone aside from a handsome young man from Scotland who had eyes to die for. She saw no reason why it ought to get in the way of her professional life, and yet it did. Albus laughed it off when she complained heatedly about the whole situation, but Minerva had never felt so embarrassed. The _boy_ she let feel her up certainly wasn't worth all the trouble that came from it, and from that point on, she swore she wouldn't let some male wander into her life and ruin what she worked so hard to build.

And then there was Tom. Tom with his deliciously scented cologne and effortless kissing. As Minerva hurried away from the abandoned classroom that night, away from her first heated kiss in years, she felt her cheeks flame, her stomach knot, and her mind swirl with unwelcome thoughts. It wasn't as though it had been an unpleasant experience, or anything. He clearly knew what he was doing, and yet she didn't feel as though she was lacking in experience with him. The pace was even, steady, and exciting. Minerva had never actually thought about kissing Tom. In fact, she hadn't considered ever kissing _anyone_ at Hogwarts, so the whole notion of doing it in some darkened classroom sort of took her by surprise. It was exciting. She could acknowledge that. Her drunken self probably would have tried for more if she had a few extra shots of alcohol in her system, but Sober Minerva was happy she hadn't. In fact, when the hangover faded the next morning around noon, she was kicking herself. Of course she was allowed to live a little every now and again, but _not_ with Tom Riddle. He was a person of suspicion for Dumbledore, and she felt foolish for letting herself fall so far from her original intention with the man. That night had been enjoyable. In fact, it was much more than that, from what she remembered, but she couldn't let anything else become of it.

Somehow, Minerva had managed to avoid him for two whole days. It wasn't difficult, mind you. She spent the majority of her time in her room grading exams, which she slowly meandered through so she had no excuse to go wander the halls. Pomona joined her a few times, and invited her to come down to the staff room with everyone else, but she came up with an excuse each time.

Gus had been so grumpy with her for all of December… She really ought to spend time with him.

No, no, her bed was far comfier than any chair in the staff room, and she was physically exhausted from a term of teaching.

Oh, it's far too cold in the hallways… Her room was the perfect temperature.

In fact, Minerva had even persuaded a pair of house elves to deliver food up to her room for all her meals. A part of her thought this was childish, the lengths she went to avoid Tom Riddle for a few days, but she deemed it necessary. She wasn't sure how he was feeling, but she didn't want to talk about it. With Christmas only a day away, she figured it would all blow over, and maybe by the annual holiday feast it would be something they could laugh over. Minerva wasn't a simpleton. Tom was an attractive man who kissed her with experience. He was still single, which meant he wasn't looking for some sort of relationship, and Minerva couldn't particularly see herself being his type of woman. Ergo, he probably wanted to forget about that night as much as she did. After all, she couldn't disappoint Dumbledore, and she wasn't about to drag herself into any sort of needless drama because the pair had shared a drunken kiss. Although, it was a kiss she couldn't stop thinking about, but she was sure that would go away in time.

Pomona had a sinking suspicion something had happened. Apparently as soon as Minerva left, Tom stormed out after her. At first, her friend came in to ask if she was okay, but when Minerva looked completely unscathed and bright red in the face, the woman became a Cheshire cat in spades. Naturally, Minerva kept everything to herself, and insisted that Tom walked her back to her room like a gentleman because he was worried she might take a tumble on the staircase in her intoxicated state. Pomona seemed sceptical, but let the issue drop after Minerva was forced to repeat the story several times over. It was like the woman was looking for falsehoods, but Minerva told the story perfectly each time, until she almost believed that was what happened that night. Nevertheless, when she ran her fingers lightly over her lips, she felt like a small fraction of electricity lingered. Each time that happened, she would shake her head forcefully and bury herself in another essay exam, something that successfully took her mind off Tom Riddle within a few minutes of crossing out words and comment adding.

However, there was only so much time she could spend reading the same answers over and over again. Some of them were very clever, particularly when it was apparent the student had _no_ idea what they were talking about, but even that lost its charm after the second consecutive day in her room. She thought she would be better at this, but the boredom set in faster than she anticipated, and around seven o'clock in the evening, Minerva felt herself itching to stretch her legs. Pursing her lips, she slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in her woolly tartan flannel robe and gave herself a once over in the mirror. She seemed paler than usual, but she chalked that up to her hermit-like behaviour over the recent days.

Gus gave something of a yawn mixed with a mew, but did not protest her leaving the warmth of the bed. In fact, with her hands on her hips in disapproval, Minerva watched the bastard slink across her strewn papers and take up the spot she abandoned, curling under the pillow ever so slightly to soak up the warmth. She shook her head with a bit of a smile, and then told him she would return in a half an hour. It was almost imperative that she stretch her legs, and she decided to wander down to the kitchens for a brisk cup of tea, and then return for the night.

There weren't many students who remained behind for the holidays this year. In fact, it seemed that the numbers had dwindled down miserably from last year, but Minerva wasn't about to complain. All the students in the castle could fit on one table in the Great Hall without any issues, and that suited her just fine. She really did like teaching, but everyone needed a break, both students and professors, when the middle of the year hit.

Pushing her loose hair over her shoulders, Minerva felt a little stupid peering down the hallway from the confines of her doorway. Honestly, it wasn't like Tom Riddle was waiting outside her room for her to rejoin the world. Although… She quickly ducked back in and grabbed her wand, illuminated the hallways properly, and did a bit of a more thorough check before she left. It might be a smidgen of paranoia in her blood that was forcing her to take such precautions, but she was in no mood to face the man anytime soon. Not that she was a coward, but she didn't need any sort of uncomfortable conversation or unnecessary eye contact. No, no, none of that.

Thankfully, she didn't run into a single person on her way down to the kitchen. She found herself escorted by Sir Nicholas on the way down, which was actually quite enjoyable. He always knew how to make somewhat intelligent conversation with her, which was more than she could say for some of the ghosts in this castle. The elves were very prompt with her tea, and even included a few little biscuits with it. They really did spoil them here with all their delicious sweets. As Minerva bit into the supple cookie, she felt her stomach give an excited pang for the Christmas feast, which wasn't far off now. After she finished her tea, she bid farewell to the pair of elves that kept her company, and promised to bring the mug back down in the morning. She knew they would find a way to retrieve it if she didn't, but Gus had quite the dislike for house elves, and she didn't want to put any of them through _another_ ordeal this year.

The first was bad enough. She knew there was one house elf down here who wouldn't meet her eye, she just couldn't remember which one. Oh Gus. Such a bastard sometimes.

Smirking at the memory, Minerva adjusted her grip on her mug and continued her leisurely stroll up from the dungeons to the first floor. So far, not a soul in sight, and she assumed it would remained as such. However, her mother's biting words about making foolish assumptions came back to sting her moments later as she stepped out of a corridor and into the main hallway of the first floor, only to spot Tom sodding Riddle walking toward her with a pile of books in his hands. They both saw each other seconds later and came to an abrupt halt. She blinked once, turned around quickly, and stumbled back down the dark hallway behind her. Minerva heard him call her name, his tone a little difficult to decipher, and footsteps echoed in the corridor. Cursing softly, she did the only thing that seemed logical for that split-second in time; she ducked into a closet. As soon as the door clicked closed behind her, she felt stupid. What was she, a school girl hiding in a broom closet? No. This was ridiculous. Mind you, if he hadn't seen her, maybe he would run right by and she could carry on back to her room without any silly conversations about kissing and the like.

Taking a very quiet step back to the door, she leaned in close and listened intently, trying to figure out if she could still hear the footsteps. It all seemed quiet on the other end, and she nibbled on her lip for a moment before turning the knob as silently as she could. Minerva then opened the door, only to gasp in fright when the nearby torch illuminated Tom's face, which looked absolutely amused.

"Are you seriously hiding from me in a potions storage cupboard?"

She glanced back over her shoulder casually and spotted shelves lined with all sorts of oddly coloured liquid vials, and then cleared her throat, "No."

"No?"

"No," she repeated firmly, her grip tightening on the metal doorknob as she felt her cheeks flush a dim crimson. "I… needed something in here."

"Oh? What was it?"

"Doesn't matter," she remarked flippantly as she stepped out, trying to maintain some level of dignity in all this, "I couldn't find it."

"Hmm."

"Good night then," Minerva said quickly, ready to hightail it back to her room as fast as her legs could carry her. However, as she stalked passed him, she felt a solid hand grip her arm, keeping her from going any further.

"Minerva, this is ridiculous."

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," she told him, and then nodded pointedly at his hand. "Let go."

"I want to talk to you," Tom insisted, pulling her a little closer, "and if I let go, you'll find another closet to hide in."

"Don't be absurd!"

"Prove me wrong," he demanded, releasing her so abruptly that she actually felt a little off balance. His eyes met hers, and eyebrows cocked up in a challenge. Minerva stared back only for a moment, and then turned on her heel and tried to make another daring escape. This time, an arm appeared out of nowhere around her slim waist and hauled her back unceremoniously, making her grunt in surprise. Somehow she managed not to spill her entire cup of tea as Tom dragged her into the closet, and her eyes struggled to adjust to the dark when he shut the door.

"This _is_ ridiculous," she snapped, slamming her cup down on what she assumed was a shelf. "Move aside, Riddle!"

"It seems this is the only way I can have an adult conversation with you," he fired back, making her scoff noisily. "After all, you've done a fantastic job of hiding in your room for two days-"

"I've been marking exams!"

"Which you always do in the staff room, or at least your office," the man argued.

"You don't know what I always do," Minerva sneered the best she could, despite the fact he was absolutely right. She heard him chuckle in the darkness, the outlines of his figure a little easier to make out as she became accustomed to the lack of light. The chuckle irked her. They both knew he was right, and that's what made it frustrating.

"Can we discuss-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she blurted, the tension in the small closet almost completely unbearable. "I just… I don't."

"Why not?"

Minerva pursed her lips, and tried to step around him, the door officially visible as a hint of light seeped in around the corners. He managed to cut her off by placing one hand on a shelf on either side of the closet, blocking her escape, "Are you embarrassed?"

"No!"

Her cheeks coloured again, more out of embarrassment at his thinking she was embarrassed over their kiss. Minerva might have been a bit embarrassed, but only because it wasn't in her nature to go around kissing men like Tom Riddle. It was a natural reaction for any woman, surely!

"Well, good," he mused, his tone light. "Was it unpleasant?"

She paused, and her eyes darted side to side, "No."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not… entirely," she replied. She found it only fair to answer the question honestly, after all. A part of her had wished they hadn't done anything that night, while the other half was secretly very pleased with how she handled herself in the situation.

"We're in agreement then."

She licked her lips and then folded her arms, still rather uncomfortable, "All right."

"See, this isn't so horrible," he laughed. "Was it really necessary to hide from me?"

Minerva huffed in the dark, rolling her eyes heavenward. The conversation was fine until it drifted back to her rather ridiculous behaviour, and she felt herself closing down again. However, a hand gently grazed her arm, making her flinch back to reality.

"Never mind then," he murmured, "but I would like it to happen again."

Minerva swallowed thickly, and then let out an uneasy laugh, "What, the drunken kissing in an empty classroom?"

"The state of it and the location are irrelevant to me," he told her, taking a small step forward. Minerva held her ground, unwilling to back down from him just because he was invading her personal space.

"It's… highly inappropriate for… staff members to fraternize," she managed to get out as she watched him grasp her loose hair and twirl it around her fingers, obviously ignoring any sort of moral decency with her.

"I couldn't find it anywhere in my contract that said it was not permitted."

"I think it's more frowned upon than strictly forbidden," Minerva remarked, her breath hitching in her throat when he finally closed the space between them, his cheek just barely touching hers, his mouth next to her ear.

"It seems like we have nothing to worry about."

She slowly turned her head to the side, "But…"

He kissed her lightly this time, almost tentatively, and Minerva pulled back just a fraction, "Tom."

His fingers tightened in her hair and he pulled her back in suddenly. This time, there wasn't a question in his kiss. Firm lips pressed against hers, nostrils filled with the same delicious scent she recalled from the first time. Her hand flew up to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she gripped the fabric of his shirt, tilting herself up on the tips of her toes ever-so-slightly so that she could keep up with him. In turn, his hands slid down her back and curled around her hips, holding her to him firmly. Suddenly, he broke the kiss, his forehead against hers, and looked down at her figure.

"What on Earth are you wearing?"

The question threw her off balance for a moment, and she cleared her throat, "A house robe."

"It's as thick as my quilt," he mused light-heartedly, taking a step back to examine her. "Let me… Let me feel this properly."

"Oh, for goodness sake," Minerva grumbled, less than impressed that he spoiled their briefly heated moment to poke fun at her wardrobe.

"Don't be sour, Minerva," he purred, untying the fabric belt and opening her coat slowly. "It just seems like I'm holding more of this beast than you."

His blatant reference to touching her body made her stomach twinge awkwardly. She felt uncomfortable when he said it out loud. Minerva couldn't quite figure out why, but she certainly didn't want him to talk anymore. So, she leaned up and found his lips again as his hands curved around her hips, large palms resting on her hip bones. She hadn't exactly dressed up to leave her room, and beneath the robe was a simple white night dress, her legs bare, but hidden by the length of her robe. She felt him wrap the material around his fingers, and then drag it up from her knees so that it came to a halt at her thighs. The cool tips of his fingers and his hot breath against her face was almost too overwhelming. This time, Minerva broke the kiss, their foreheads resting together once more.

"I don't understand," she whispered, her breathing heavy. She heard him chuckle again.

"It isn't a complicated thing."

"I don't understand what you want with me," she informed him, a slight tremble in her voice rather unexpectedly. "I'm not… some loose woman you might find in… Diagon-"

"Oh come, Minerva," he laughed, his voice full and somewhat smug. "Give me a little more credit than that… Do you think I could have spent this whole term with you and think you're a whore."

The word stung her, although she was sure he hadn't meant it to. Regardless, she still pulled herself back, giving them a bit of a distance. He shook his head at her, his grey figure perfectly visible now in the darkness, "That's not what I want."

"What _do_ you want, then?"

"You're a smart witch," Tom mused, head cocked to the side. "Figure it out."

Oh, she had been trying. She had been trying from day one to completely understand Tom Riddle, but at this point, it seemed almost impossible. She suddenly felt him tying her robe back up, a little tighter than before, and then sauntered toward the door. There was the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning once more, and as the faint light filtered in, she spotted his hand extended to her.

"I have a mountain of exams to grade," he told her. "Now that we've got this sorted, perhaps you'll join the rest of us in the staff room for the night?"

Minerva hesitantly reached out, placing her slim hand in his, and allowed him to escort her out of the storage cupboard with more dignity than she had when she went in. They walked in silence, hand in hand, until they reached the main hallway of the first floor. As soon as they stepped out of the darkened little corridor, Minerva quickly released his hand, worried about a student, colleague, or portrait happening upon them by mistake. Tom crouched down and gathered up his books, which looked like they had been tossed aside carelessly when he hurried after her. When he straightened up, her cheeks flushed when their eyes met for the first time in full light.

"Give me a kiss," he ordered suddenly, which made her blush worse. Her eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head.

"No, Tom, nothing can be done in public-"

Before she could get into her tirade, he ducked down and planted a firm, quick kiss on her lips. She squealed a little, but she barely had the chance to shove him off. Within half a second, he was gone, marching down the hallway without another word.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I'm in LOVE with Gus. He's my way of owning a cat, since I can't get one in the place I'm living at the moment. So. Expect many Gus moments in the future. **

**If I was into a guy like Tom, and he pulled this kind of crap, I would be a total mess. I'm a bit of an over-thinker anyway, but that's something I suspect Minerva and I will have in common. I love how he tells her this isn't complicated. LIKE HELL IT ISN'T. Oh, Tom. Sometimes I feel like he's more hot air than anything, particularly in his younger days. When he's all Snake!Voldemort and killing Death Eater's for jokes, then I think he's more action than hot air. But for now, I think he's still growing into himself as a Dark Lord, and he gets to be a bit of a weirdo. **

**Sorry it took so long to get another chapter up! The last week of October was HECTIC to the max for me. But things are finally cooling down before the December exam period, so I can do some more steady weekly updates. Also, we're six reviews away from 100! How exciting! I love you alllll for the fantastic feedback! **


	19. I've showed you the answers

The Christmas feast was supposed to be the most joyous feast the school celebrated since the one that commemorated the start of a new year. Most of the time, Minerva went home during her years at Hogwarts. It wasn't until her fifth year, when people actually wanted to stay behind with their friends, that she opted to see what the holiday season in her secondary home was like. It was brilliant. Everyone who stayed sat at one long table, professors included, and dined on the most scrumptious food she would taste for the rest of the year. It was as if the house elves gave their all to feed about one hundred individuals, and it showed that with more time to prepare less food, they were truly excellent at their craft. Not to say that cooking was all house elves were good for, but these elves specifically worked in the kitchens, and they were damn good at what they did. She went home for her sixth year, but in her final year Minerva and all of her friends in the Gryffindor house remained at Hogwarts for their last Christmas feast. They huddled together with Albus and several other professors, toasting to a brilliant year, dining on roast turkey, duck and pheasant, and forced themselves to carry on into the two rounds of brilliant desserts that followed. When the meal was over, they collapsed back in their dormitories, stuck in a food coma until the following morning.

All those years away from the castle, and Minerva craved a Hogwarts feast like nothing else. Naturally, she had Christmas dinner with her family whenever everyone could get together, down at a pub with her office mates, or at a delicious restaurant with Albus the day after to celebrate the holiday season. However, nothing was quite the same as that mouth-watering food the house elves prepare. So, last year, she barely at the entire day, and when the feast rolled around, she dived into it in silence, scarfing down food as if the world was ending at midnight. It was the most satisfying experience she had all year. It wasn't just the food, but the atmosphere too. All the houses came together, with the staff too, and simply enjoyed one another's company. Now, she wasn't completely naïve. She knew some students simply weren't going to get along, and no Christmas feast was going to change that. However, for one evening, they had a chance to sit together without feeling as though house rivalries were necessary. It was a relaxing kind of feeling, one that she seldom sensed amongst students from different houses. For one night, maybe even one hour, everything in Hogwarts was at peace.

Ever since she and Tom had had their little… discussion, Minerva no longer felt completely uncomfortable to be around him in public. She was still mortified about her drunken actions, but she eased up on her guilt when she realized he actually wanted to do it again. At this point, Minerva hadn't decided if getting close to him like this was what she wanted. It might turn out to be more trouble than it was worth. Although normally Albus was her confidant, she felt like this wasn't a subject she could bring up with him without him thinking she was losing focus on the important assignment he had given her. In a way, if she took up Tom's offer to repeat their closeted kissing, she was getting closer than ever before. It would be an excellent way to monitor him on a more personal level, and she could only hope his mood swings regarding her might come to an end. However, she hardly considered it appropriate or professional to use some absurd romance as a way to spy on her colleague. It was morally apprehensible, at best, and Minerva wasn't sure her conscience could let her do it. For now, she decided that she wasn't doing anything wrong by spending the day with him in the staff room grading papers individually. Other members of the staff team flitted in and out over the course of Christmas day, and at around four Tom excused himself in a bit of a flurry. She asked where he was going, but he darted around the question, telling her not to worry about it, but he would be back by the time the feast started.

She wanted to tail him, but after the genuine smile he gave her, and the fact that several other colleagues were studying the pair intently, Minerva pretended to brush it off as though it was nothing. Instead, she worked through the short answer problems from her sixth year exams for another hour, occasionally joining in the random bursts of chatter with her companions, and then finally started to put her things away at around five. There was an hour left until the feast, and she decided she was going to spend it with Gus as she gussied herself up just a hint for the sake of the holiday. She couldn't overdo it, otherwise Tom, and probably everyone else, would think she was doing it for him. However, she had no issues reminding _anyone_ who brought it up with her that she did, in fact, dress up for the holidays almost every year, just like everyone else. She put her one pair of gold stud earrings in her ears, added a little powder to her face, let her dark auburn hair hang loose in a half-up half-down style, and usually picked one of her nicer, fitted tartan dresses, preferably with a red and green stitched pattern. It was what she did last year, and she planned to do it again this year. Tom Riddle did _not_ dictate how she dressed for the holidays. If she happened to look nice, and he noticed, that was simply an added bonus to the strange sort of relationship they found themselves falling into.

As she strolled back to her room, she mused over everything that had happened since she and Tom had discussed the prospects of a repeat performance in the storage cupboard. Nothing scandalous had occurred as of yet. In fact, although they had basically seen each other all day for the past two days, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. He smiled a little more, made her a tea once, and walked her half-way to her room before turning down a hallway that was near his. However, at this point he hadn't tried to creep into her room, or force her into any more empty classrooms, and her original hypothesis about his sole interest in a strictly physical relationship went out the window fairly quickly. Not that she was opposed to it, but she was no longer completely sure what kind of angle he was playing at. She wouldn't delude herself into thinking he was wholly interested in some sort of romantic relationship, as from everything she had seen from him, he wasn't the type.

It wasn't like she didn't appreciate the attention. In a way, it was flattering to feel even the slightest bit desired by a man, particularly one who was close to her age. Her former boss had been much older, and her boyfriends felt much young when she was dating them. Tom was actually her age. He was intelligent. A worthy advisory, if she really thought about it. She smirked as she slipped into her bedroom, scooping Gus up as he sauntered over to greet her. She rubbed her face in his fur, and at the feel of his flicking tail, she set him down on her bed, not wanting to displease her feline so close to her face. Once she had spent an adequate amount of time with what she considered a fairly grumpy cat, Minerva set about getting herself ready. She followed her basic outline from the previous year almost down the exact detailing of her make-up, and as she gazed at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked more than presentable. Throwing her shoulders back, she studied the lines on her face, the shadows cast by her high cheekbones, and the delicate swell of her lips. She looked more than appropriate for the feast. They would notice that she looked different. The staff members were drinking again tonight, and she could easily pass it off as wanting to look lovely to the party too.

She suddenly reached into her medicine cupboard and pulled out a bottle of bright red perfume that her mother bought her last Christmas. Minerva wasn't a perfume woman. She barely wore make-up, for Merlin's sake, so why bother with anything else? However, if she was going to go all out, then why not dash a little extra on? After giving herself a few squirts, she let it settle, and then sniffed her wrist. It complimented her natural fragrance wonderfully. Perhaps she should wear this more often… when not teaching. Whenever that might happen. With a sigh, she set it back in her medicine cabinet, closed the door softly, and then exited her bathroom. Gus lay sprawled across her bed, and only popped his head up a touch as she walked by.

"Fine, be a grumpy sod," she teased lightly. He stared at her for a moment, and then set his head down, tail flicking against the duvet cover every so often. Minerva rolled her eyes and finally left, locking her door to let him know she was officially gone for the night. If he was going to be a sourpuss, then she wasn't going to try and get some cuddles in before dinner. Tucking her hair behind her shoulder, she strolled casually through the corridors, reminding the few students she saw that dinner was going to start in a half an hour. It wasn't as if they could possibly miss out on all the food, as they were bound to have days of leftovers, but it was always a little more satisfying to get there exactly when it started. Something about the atmosphere at the very beginning of the feast as endlessly pleasing to Minerva, and she couldn't quite put her finger on the exact reason.

Minerva glanced down the hallway in the direction of Tom's office, and a part of her wanted to poke her head in to see if he was back from the village yet. However, the majority of her sane self insisted that it might be odd that she approached him informally about something like that. They weren't an item, so she didn't need to examine his whereabouts. However, she _did_ need to monitor him for Dumbledore. Pursing her lips, she almost started down the corridor, only to pause when she heard some sort of muttering coming from a stairwell on her left. It was a thin one that led up to the Gryffindor tower faster than taking the main hall of stairs. She almost ignored it, but there was something odd about the muttering. It almost sounded… repetitive, like a chant. From the distance, she couldn't make out the words. It only sounded like one voice, which was also strange, and at that moment Minerva felt it was her duty to investigate. If some student was practicing obscure magic in the stairwell, she ought to put an end to it. That was what classes were for, after all!

With a hand on the wooden railing, Minerva climbed up a few stairs, only to come to an abrupt halt as she rounded a corner, a smaller scream slipping out before she could stop herself. Beatrice Callahan, a Gryffindor fifth year, stood in the darkened staircase, arms at her side, rocking back and forth chanting, "Mudblood" repeatedly, her eyes glossed over. It wasn't her actions that startled her, although it was a bit of a shock to find her there, but it was the very state of her physical being. Every inch of exposed flesh was, in some way, torn up. The skin over her knuckles was peeled back. Her arms had various sizes of 'M' shaped cuts in them, most still oozing thick red blood. Her upper and lower lips were split, and her face looked puffier than usual, almost like a sports injury where the player had a blow to the head. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide, staring right through Minerva, and there was a rather large wound at the base of her hairline, which was bleeding heavily. Someone had clearly left her to bleed out. There was a puddle of blood forming around her feet, and her white shirt was completely soaked. At this point, it was too early to tell if there were any other sorts of internal injuries, but by the look of her swollen cheeks, Minerva inferred something might be broken or missing from her mouth or cheek region.

She pulled out her wand and then took a step back. In a clear voice, she cast the spell to remove all previous spells, _finite incantatem_. Seconds later, life emerged in the girl's eyes, and only moments after that she was shrieking as if something was murdering her on the spot. She crumbled into a heap on the steps, still screaming with every breath she had, and Minerva did the only thing she could think of; she stunned her. The screaming instantly stopped, and the girl drifted into a magically-induced coma.

Anyone else in this situation could panic, but Minerva remained cool under pressure. She turned on her heel and marched straight back down the stairs, and caught the attention of the first portrait she trusted, "Please find Professor Dumbledore and tell him a student has been attacked. He can find us in the Hospital Wing."

The portrait, an elderly wizard with a vast amount of scrolls around him, nodded, and then vanished out of the side of his painting. Minerva then hurried back over to Beatrice, who was still bleeding fairly heavily, and then levitated her off the ground. She certainly didn't have the time to sit there and try to fix all the wounds. Poppy was the expert, and she was going to leave it to her to get Beatrice back to her normal self in a matter of minutes. On any normal school day, Minerva also wouldn't have levitated a bleeding body through the castle, but since there were barely any students there, and the ones that were ought to be down for the feast already. Therefore, she shouldn't run into any problems, and she didn't. When she arrived up at the Hospital Wing, Poppy was waiting for her at the door.

"Albus alerted me as soon as soon as he got word," she told Minerva as she carefully eased Beatrice around the corner of the doorway. "He went… to… settle the feast… My goodness, Minerva!"

"I found her in some sort of state, chanting the word… Mudblood over and over again," she explained, her voice quivering only slightly as the two hastily walked over to a nearby bed. Poppy pulled the sheets back as Minerva set Beatrice down gently, keeping her under her spell for now. "I had to stun her, because when I removed whatever incantation was on her, she screamed bloody murder. I suspect something is broken."

"Cheek bones, perhaps," Poppy agreed as she tenderly touched the girl's face. "It all looks very recent… Did you happen to see the attacker?"

"No," Minerva replied, crossing her arms and quickly stepping out of the way as Poppy went to work. "No, I found her in an empty stairwell."

"Well, that doesn't matter, for now," the head nurse muttered, flourishing her wand about and dabbing away at some of the open wounds. "I'll have these closed in no time, but I will need to prepare something for whatever is damaged internally."

"Do the rest of the staff know?"

"I believe Albus is informing them now," Poppy remarked somewhat absently, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "They are carrying on with the feast, for now, and will tell the rest of the students once we have everything here… sorted."

Minerva heard the door swing open at the front of the wing, and she looked back to find Albus hurrying across the room toward the two women.

"Beatrice Callahan," she informed him when he gave her a questioning look. "I found her in the stairwell near the Gryffindor tower like this… clearly enchanted. She was repeating 'Mudblood' over and over again… Is… Is she a Muggleborn, Albus?"

"She is," the man remarked sadly as he stood at the end of her bed, staring through his half-moon spectacles at the broken student. "Did you see-"

"No one in the hall or the stairwell," Minerva explained. "I should have looked more thoroughly, but I just wanted to get her to Poppy as soon as I could."

"I know, Minerva, you did the right thing," he told her kindly. "Was there anything else unusual around her? Any markings?"

"Aside from the ones on her body, nothing that I could see," Minerva replied, tugging on the ends of her hair. "I should have looked more…"

"It's fine," he insisted, a little more firmly this time. "You did what you should have done."

"She has four broken ribs," Poppy said suddenly as she felt along the side of Beatrice's chest. "There must be more internal damage… Whoever attacked her was ruthless."

Minerva covered her mouth with her hand, suddenly feeling a little unstable on her feet. Albus gently touched her arm, and then nodded to the door. It was his way of letting her out without actually telling her that she ought to take a moment to breath. She swallowed thickly and departed from Beatrice's bedside, only just making it out the door just before she felt a serious urge to throw up all the day's food into the nearest basin. Luckily, there was a lavatory just down the hall, and Minerva faintly heard her name being called as she ducked into it. She then promptly vomited up everything she had in her into the nearest toilet. It was a bit of a surprising reaction, but Minerva had never seen someone quite so mangled before, even in her years fighting criminals in a courtroom for the Ministry.

She sat on the floor of the bathroom for some time, her head on the cool toilet seat, until she finally flushed the evidence of her weakness away, and washed her mouth and hands. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she no longer looked like the attractive woman she had seen earlier. Her face was considerably paler than she had seen it in a long time, with reddened, watery eyes to offset it. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then hastily wiped away a few rogue tears that dribbled down her cheeks. Minerva wasn't crying. No, it was from the vomiting episode. That's what it had to be, because Minerva barely ever cried about anything.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Minerva glanced up when Tom poked his head in. She smiled weakly as he slipped inside, and then locked the door behind him.

"I just heard about what happened," he told her, his voice calm and smooth. "She looks… horrendous."

"Where were you?"

She hadn't meant to ask it, but it came out before Minerva could stop herself. He frowned at her, and only then did she notice he was still in a thick cloak, his cheeks a little pink from what could be wind.

"What?"

"Just now," she carried on, gripping the sink hard with her pale hands. "Where have you been?"

Tom stared at her for a moment, his face a strange mix between bewilderment and irritation, and then cleared his throat, "I've been in Hogsmeade… You can ask Hagrid. I ran into him on the walk back to the castle. We had a lovely one-sided chat about his ridiculous rotted pumpkins."

She bit her lower lip, her mind racing over the logic of his statement, and then decided that Tom must have had nothing to do with it. Naturally, she would confirm the story with Hagrid later, but for now she let her suspicions drop.

"Do you think I had something to do with what happened to Callahan?"

"No, I just… I felt like I needed to ask," she muttered quietly, staring down at the white sink, her hair curtaining either side of her face.

"I was in the village, and have been for the past hour," he ground out. She caught his glare in the mirror, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Suddenly, he reached into his cloak and tossed a small box down in the sink, "I was picking up your Christmas present. I'm sure the merchant can vouch for me. Proof enough?"

"All right," she snapped. "I'm sorry."

He stared at her for a moment as she watched him in the mirror, and then turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob.

"Tom," she called, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were watery again, her voice pleading for something that she wasn't quite sure of, but she was sure he would pick up on. He was a deviously perceptive fellow. His expression remained somewhat cool, but he took his hand off the door and sauntered back over to her, cupping her cheek and stroking it with his thumb.

"You found her?"

She nodded and her eyes slowly drifted shut when he leaned in and placed a kiss on her temple, lips lingering for a moment.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

They stayed standing close together for what seemed like a long time, Minerva inhaling his scent and melting into his cold hand. He finally gave her another kiss on the cheek, and then picked the previously discarded box out of the sink.

"I'll let you open your Christmas gift a day early, if you want to feel better," he mused, setting it in her hand with a bit of a grin.

"You didn't need to get me anything," Minerva insisted, suddenly feeling a little awkward that he had gone out of his way to buy her something. "I didn't get you a present."

"Hardly expected one, to be honest," he chuckled, giving her a little nudge. "Open it."

She sighed a little, but popped open the box anyway, eyes widening when she spotted a gold bracelet inside. Now, she was well aware of the fact that it couldn't be real gold, as nowhere in the village supplied it, but it was still a lovely gesture.

"I know you don't wear jewelry," he insisted, taking it out and wrapping it around a slender wrist, "but I thought you might give it a go for me…"

"It's very nice," she admitted as he did the clasp up. It was an exceptionally simple, thin chain, but it fit her just perfectly, and she was sure it would match with almost all the dresses she owned. A bracelet wasn't really much of a hindrance, mind you, so perhaps she could give it a try. "It seems like you have a knack for finding me practical gifts."

"Practical?"

"Well, I think this is fairly practical as far as jewellery goes," she decided, bringing it up to admire a little. "I can give it a try, but don't be put off if I forget to wear it every now and again."

"I'll try to keep my tears in," he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes a little. He then tossed the empty box in a nearby garbage bin, and then took her by the waist, tugging her toward the door, "Why don't we join the feast?"

Minerva frowned, and then shook her head, "I think I ought to stay with Beatrice-"

"Pomfrey is working on her," he argued as he linked his hand with hers. "Why don't you enjoy yourself with everyone, and then go check on her tomorrow when she is feeling better. Doesn't that make more sense?"

"I thought I could be there if she wakes up," Minerva told him. He was right though. Beatrice was in excellent hands, and she was probably going to be kept under until tomorrow morning anyway. Poppy could do a lot, but Minerva also knew that the body needed time to heal on its own terms, and sleep was the perfect time to do it. "But… I suppose I should get something to eat first."

"Couldn't agree more," he mused, squeezing her hand a little as they stepped out of the lavatory. Once out, they quickly let go of one another, and Minerva established a respectful distance between them as they walked down to the Great Hall together.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I don't think I need to tell you all, but I'm sure you've seen the poll on my profile. I'm picking my top four stories to focus on, and my readers are doing it for me by voting. So far, this story is tied for the lead with one other, which makes me endlessly happy. However, go cast your vote, just to be safe! I'd really, really appreciate it. **

**This chapter took me a bit to get into, but once I was in, I was in. I also found a number of mistakes while I was reading it over at… 1 am. Le tired. So, I apologize. I try to put out higher quality writing, but sometimes mistakes slip through the cracks. **

**I'm sure some of you can guess who the attacker is, but I'll let you speculate your options. You can also decide for yourself what you think the Christmas present means for Tom. **

**Also, I just wanted to note – the sexy timez aren't going to be right away. I know a lot of stories sort of establish that people are hooking up, and then the next chapter is like OMG SEX ALREADY. I'm trying to keep **_**some**_** realism… It's the 1950s, and it's Minerva. So, a few stolen kisses here and there are scandalous enough. No one has complained, or anything, but I thought I'd just throw that out there for people who might just be reading because it's rated M and are waiting for **_**that**_** scene. Not saying there won't be, but you know. … Now I'm awkward. **

**ANYWAY. Thanks, babies, for putting me over 100 reviews! You're all fantastic, and I look forward to each and every one. I almost know what kind of review I get based on who you are… and LOVE reading them. Thank you, thank you, thank you!**


	20. Now here's the door

Voldemort rarely did anything for New Year's Eve. In fact, he seldom celebrated any sort of holiday anymore. This was the first year in quite a number that he was forced to recall what days specific events fell on for the sake of his job. It certainly wasn't difficult to fall back into the familiar rhythm that Hogwarts had with the festive seasons. All he needed was a gentle reminder from Slughorn that something was on the horizon, and he was there along with everyone else, a drink in hand, toasting to some pointless day as if it actually meant something to him. Holidays had never brought any sort of cheer into his miserable childhood, and he stopped celebrating them once he considered himself old enough to think for himself. When he entered this true world, this world of magic, he made a mental note of the days that he ought to pay special attention to. As an adult, the only one that mattered was honouring Salazar Slytherin's date of birth as a sign of respect. In his school days, he cared about when school started, when it ended, and when he could enjoy a delicious feast. The holidays usually consisted of him sitting around, alone, doing his work. Anything was better than returning to that horrible orphanage. Now, in his adulthood, he might occasionally call a gathering of his 'friends' and followers in an attempt to show that he was involved in all aspects of their lives. He celebrated the previous Christmas with the family of a wealthy supporter in Scotland. It was some of the best wine he had ever drank, and if he hadn't been at Hogwarts for it this year, he might have called on them again.

Ah, Hogwarts. Why would he want to leave when things were becoming so interesting? Mind you, Minerva was really the only thing that kept the dismal examination season from making him want to hex himself. Now that they were at this point, he figured the upcoming term was going to be much better than the first. Now, it certainly hadn't started off all that pleasantly. When Minerva rejected his advances the night he suggested a drunken Wood pay her a visit, Voldemort felt enraged. He hadn't been told 'no' in a very long time, particularly when it came to women. Naturally, he hadn't expected her to let him throw her over the desk and have his way with her. He would be an idiot if, at this point, he thought she was that kind of woman. However, he had thought she might have been more receptive to a chaste kiss, seeing as he had rescued her from an attacker who seemed to clearly overpower her slim frame. The rejection stung more than he expected. It was a blow to his pride, even if the event happened in the privacy of her classroom. He left that night put off and irritated. After all, he had planned to ensnare her in his net that night. She was such a pure, traditional woman who blushed at the mere mention of a carnal desire, and when Voldemort confirmed that, he knew the perfect way to control her.

She was rigid, cold, and distant, but he knew that it wouldn't take much to break down her barrier. However, she was also remarkably frustrating. She grated his nerves with her incessant questions, and came a little too close to finding him in the midst of his dirty work. It couldn't stand. He couldn't have someone get in the way. She might have been Dumbledore's favourite, but Voldemort found her only just tolerable, to a point. Naturally, the woman had her redeeming qualities, and it was easy to see why the headmaster held her in such high regard. Intelligent, witty, and able to stand on her own without the aid of any man. It was an accomplishment for a woman in this day and age, but he could also see how that would deter any potential suitors from coming too close. Voldemort could be that suitor. If she trusted him enough to possibly take her into his bed, she was bound to back off on her probing detective work around his affairs. Who knows, but by the end of the year, she might happily leave with him and move on to bigger and better things in his world. That was a far cry away, to be sure, and when she rebuffed him that night, he felt his plan shattering around him.

So, in a vain attempt to shield his pride, he kept away from her as their students fell into the December exam period. Voldemort knew if he tried again and she turned him away, he would have to try something a little more drastic to keep her nose out of his dealings. For a time, he watched her, furious that he needed to go out of his way to keep one pesky woman at bay. All term she had been relentless, and he was down to his last nerve with her. Even the attack in the school's lavatory hadn't been enough to dampen the desire to traumatize her to the point of madness. No one had ever been this problematic for him. Ladies of all standing melted when he cooed at them. Men were in awe of his genius. The only one who had never given into him was Albus, so he decided it made sense that Minerva did not succumb as swiftly either. She would, one way or another. He saw cracks in her barrier slowly emerge, and eventually he would find a way to break her.

However, the exam period was just as stressful for professors as it was for the students. He was overwhelmed with paperwork, and never had a second to himself between monitoring his examinations and helping watch other professors'. He then had to see students off to the train, waiting in the blistering cold at the station with bloody Hagrid, his uncaring eyes watching the windows as a few students dared to wave farewell. It was all a terrible bore, really, and by the end of it, he was simply just tired. He crawled into bed, mentally and physically exhausted, and slept the day away. When he awoke later that night, he was in a terrible mood. He was hungry, tired, and found that his nap had done nothing to relieve the headache he had endured for the better part of the day. After grabbing a quick bite to eat down in the kitchens, he realized it was close to midnight on the night of the staff party. He hadn't expected it, but his colleagues were thrilled to see the majority of the students leave for the holidays. Even Dumbledore seemed to be in an overly pleasant mood that day, which was annoying as ever. He was in such a foul mood as he stalked toward the staff room, and part of him was unsure why he was going at all. These people were not his friends. In a way, he did want to connect, but only when it suited his own terms.

However, despite all his pent-up anger from his miserable body, the blistering headache, and the premonition that these drunken bastards were just going to make it worse, Voldemort dragged himself down to the staff room in an attempt to at least enjoy one drink before returning to bed. As he stepped into the small hallway that led to the bowels of the castle, he could already here the music, loud chatter, and angry shouts from Horace Slughorn over what he only assumed could be some sort of game with Dumbledore. He came into the dimly lit, alcohol-scented room and knocked into another figure… just the woman he was in no mood to see. He tried to step around her, only to be jeered at by his colleagues that he ought to kiss her. Momentarily stunned, he then realized that they had both haphazardly walked under a mistletoe sprig. Ridiculous traditions apparently take the longest to die. However, as he pressed his lips together in a stoic protest, Minerva was the one to kiss him. It was… baffling! For a second, he had no idea what to do with himself. Arms out, he simply let it happen, and within seconds it was all over, accompanied by the cat calls of the rest of the staff room. Minerva was hardly embarrassed over it. Quite the contrary. She had a brilliant smile on her face, and twirled out of the room in a bit of a drunken haze. Once gone, he stood stock still, hands in fists, staring into nothingness.

Someone shouted at him to go after her, which was followed by another round of cheers. Without much provocation, he did. However, he wasn't running after her to ask her for more. No, he was a tad humiliated that she had been the one to make the first move, especially in such a public setting. A drunken kiss would mean nothing in those circumstances. He caught up with her quickly and dragged her into an empty classroom, his temper in a complete fit. However, when he shut the door behind them, he realized this was the perfect opportunity. It took him a few seconds to heal his wounded pride, but when he did, he was quite sure he felt the woman swoon against him and his kiss. It was obviously much better than their first, and he felt himself slipping into it with more ease than anticipated. Voldemort had expected to feel superior when he kissed her. After all, she couldn't have had any more than one sexual partner in her lifetime, and he fully expected her to be a disaster. Quite the contrary occurred, however, and when his fingers met garter belts on her thighs, he couldn't help but lose himself just a little.

After that night, he knew he had her. His conquest to plant his seed of control was successful at last. Minerva barely surfaced from her room for two days. It was almost laughable to hear that she hadn't come out. He realized this was to be his strategy. Hardly a terrible one, from his point a view. After all, Voldemort was a man at his core. An extraordinary one, yes, but he still had his own needs to be met at some point. Therefore, in order to ensure she took a more permanent place on the outside of his affairs, he pursued her. He trapped her in a storage cupboard and stole another kiss, which she seemed more than willing to return. There were rumours trolling around the staff room regarding their potential relationship, and more than once he had noticed Albus eyeing them thoughtfully from a distance. However, he complied with her wishes, and kept things as private as possible. They did things they would normally do together; mark assignments, eat meals, and talk in groups of other professors. She was not intolerable by any means when he knew he could silence her with a hand on the small of her back. She still seemed uneasy around him, but he knew that once she understood he had no intention of bedding her and then running, she was bound to relax.

Or so he had thought. The day that Gryffindor Mudblood had been attacked showed that despite the fact she was willing to kiss him, she certainly wasn't ready to let her suspicions of him go. He feigned a hurt expression, but deep down he was seething. He had gone all the way to the bloody village in this ridiculous weather to pick her up a present – women liked Christmas gifts, didn't they? – only to return and be accused of attacking a Mudblood! When he checked in on the girl briefly, he saw she was a complete mess. He would have liked to take credit for her, but it wasn't necessarily his style. Voldemort preferred to mangle the insides. Should his victim feel the need to pull out some hair, or pluck off their finger nails in agony… Well, that was to their discretion. He could honestly say he had no part in the attack of the girl, though he had a sinking suspicion of who might be involved. Meanwhile, in order to regain Minerva's clearly fragile trust, he was almost overly attentive for the next few days. He found out where her bedroom was and met her in the morning with some tea. She hadn't invited him in, but she accepted his offer to walk with him for some time around the castle, a light conversation flowing between the pair. She was very distressed over the student, almost to the point of distraction, and Voldemort almost cursed whoever did it because they hindered his progress. However, he did have the opportunity to play the comforting male comrade. He kept his sexual advances rather tame, with a light kiss on the temple every so often if they were alone, and tried to probe into her mind to see what she wanted.

She had walls up, unfortunately, and if he wanted to go in undetected, she needed to be in a more vulnerable state. Time would give him the opportunity. He knew he could be patient when he wished. They spent the week between Christmas and the New Year celebration seeing each other for most of the day in the staff room, and then parted when night fell. It was acceptable, and with each passing day, he noticed that she wasn't watching him out of the corner of her eye whenever he rustled about or got up to fetch a drink. Instead, she concentrated on her work, smiling whenever they were alone long enough for him to reach across and touch her hand. If he was being honest, he was quite the charmer.

Tonight, Albus had arranged for fireworks over the lake, and informed the castle's occupants over dinner that their curfew was lifted so that everyone may celebrate with friends among all houses at the stroke of midnight. The mood around the school had been so dreary since the girl was attacked, and the news that there was no curfew seemed to lift the spirits of the students present. The staff were also fairly excited for the Hogwarts display. There were no fireworks while he was in school, and for once, he was a little excited to see what the old man had in mind. If they were anything like the holidays feasts, he was sure they would not disappoint. He had discussed his plans for the night with Minerva over breakfast, breaking her away from her conversation with Sprout to propose an idea to her. The best location in the castle to see the magnificent display would be from the Astronomy tower. He was sure others would have the same idea, but if they could get there first, perhaps they could lock themselves in and have the night to themselves. Now, he had not deluded himself into thinking she would give herself over to him that night, but he had every intention of taking some privacy to bring her that much closer. Unfortunately, Sprout eavesdropped just long enough to gush that the idea was _wonderful_, and they should all congregate there in order to see the fireworks properly. How _brilliant_ you are, Riddle.

Ugh. Minerva seemed helpless to protest, and was soon agreeing to meet with everyone else in the tower ten minutes to midnight. He rolled his eyes and settled in for the day, irritated that his plans were spoiled. However, he knew there would be an opportunity for them at some point that night. He merely needed to wait. So, he spent the day marking some of the last of his exams, and joined everyone for dinner in the Great Hall. He then walked Minerva back to her room, and finished up with the rest of his work in his office. Around eleven that evening, he decided to meet Minerva in her room again as a surprise. If there was no chance of them being alone that night, perhaps he could catch her before the festivities started.

As he stood with his back to the door, straightening out some papers on his desk for future reading the following day, he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Arching an eyebrow, he looked up at his portrait, who gave the faintest of indications that it was not Dumbledore. At that sign, he knew who it was.

"Happy new year, Professor," Evelyn purred as he turned to face her slowly, his expression cool.

"An hour too early for that, I'm afraid," he sighed, sounding bored as he gazed at her. "Why are you here, Evelyn?"

"I came to see if you had plans," she insisted, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes as she stepped into his office. "Perhaps we could watch the fireworks-"

"Of course I have plans," he snapped, quickly deterring her from finishing her invitation. "I think you should return to your housemates."

"They are boring," she whined. He wrinkled his nose at her, disgusted by her girlish advances, and then turned back around, glaring at his portrait. A silence settled over them, until she finally inquired, "Do you have plans with McGonagall?"

"I have plans with the whole staff."

"You're always with her."

"Who I spend my time with is none of your concern," he hissed, whipping back around to face her so violently that she took two steps back, her eyes wide. How dare she speak with him as though they were anything more than what they were? If the door was shut, he would have made her scream for her mistake. However, he could hear chatter in the halls, and since the students had no curfew, he couldn't be sure who had been around when she stepped into his office.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, picking at her too-short skirt as though she had spotted a piece of lint. "I didn't mean to be presumptuous."

"But you did," he sneered, rolling his eyes, "and I'm sure you will continue to do so until I can show you properly why it is foolish to do so."

She looked back up at him quickly, her pink lips pursed, and then shook her head, "I don't want that."

He moved forward quickly, grabbing her hard by the chin and hoisting her up just a touch, his voice low, "Then you will hold your tongue."

Short, shallow breaths escaped her flared nostrils, and he knew she was excited by the fear and his touch. It was remarkably easy to keep her coming back for more.

"Did you see what I did to the Mudblood?" Evelyn managed to whisper, her eyes alight as she tried to hold his stare, "Did you see what I did for you?"

Ha. He knew it had been her. Lip twitching, he released her and grabbed his cloak, sliding it on without another glance her way, "Dramatic and over the top."

"You did not see the wandwork I also did on her," the girl argued heatedly, stepping in front of him before he could leave. "I had her in such a state!"

"And now I am under suspicion by Dumbledore," he snarled, his face very close to hers again. "You _will_ tell me the next time you attempt to prove your worth. I do _not_ need any more attention than I already have."

"That wasn't my intention," she squeaked. "I just wanted you to see-"

"I know, Evelyn," he sighed, stepping back and straightening himself out. "You are a talented, dangerous little witch. But you must ask me in the future… Do not be so impulsive. It is unbecoming."

She nodded, and he swept out of his office, the lights extinguishing behind him while she remained standing alone in the dark. He was not going to falter from his original plan, though he made a note to watch Evelyn a little more closely now. Her magic needed to be perfected to his desires, not to her own. If she did something reckless like that again, Voldemort would have to permanently put her in her place. He couldn't have some love-struck student spoiling his time here at the castle. Shaking his head, he banished his growing annoyance with her from his mind. Minerva was bound to pick up on the slightest negative mood, and he wasn't sure he could keep using the "I'm just tired" excuse with her for much longer. Most the time, he was sure she didn't believe him anyway.

He came to a halt in front of her door, which was enchanted to look like the door to a storage cupboard, just as his was. They were shaped that way to deter students from pestering the professors in their private time. If they wished, the door could change form, but he hadn't found the need for that just yet. However, if Evelyn managed to find the location of his chambers… Well, that would be a different story. He frowned at the thought. Raising a fist, he knocked several times on the solid wood, and then waited for a moment. The door flew open to reveal Minerva in another one of her ridiculous flannel house robes, her hair in a bun. Her eyes widened when she saw it was him, clearly not who she had been expecting, and she hid herself partially behind the door.

"Tom," she breathed, glancing down the empty corridor. "Weren't we meeting by the tower?"

"I thought I might drop by and surprise you," he replied, an impish grin on his lips. "Apparently I've come too soon."

"Oh, well… Yes, I was just getting ready-"

"Why don't I help?"

"That's really not… necessary or… proper," she stammered as he invited himself in. "Tom!"

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**This will be a two-parter. I won't just leave you like this, not to worry! **

**He's actually such a jerk. **_**Such**_** a jerk. I'd like to see what Minerva can do to change him, but I think there's some hope yet.**

**I pictured him embarrassed about her rejection because he just doesn't really know how to handle it. He is usually the best at magic and duelling and all that good stuff, but when it comes to women, I just don't think he has the experience to be like I'M THE BEST THERE IS! Just because. Well. There's no indication he's a womanizer anywhere, but I'm sure he's not a virgin either. Some happy medium that fits the area, I think. He's too busy for babes. Doing… important Dark Lord stuff. **

**Rawr. **

**Anywho. Thanks, as always, to my lovely reviewers. I love to read them, and get really excited after posting to hear feedback. Love, love, love!**


	21. I'll tell you, baby

Minerva felt like a total mess ever since Beatrice had been attacked. She kept going over the incident in her mind, wondering if she might have heard something in the hall sooner that would have allowed her to catch the mysterious attacker. Perhaps if she hadn't spent so much time putting perfume and other ridiculous outfits on to look lovely for the Christmas feast, she might have intercepted the attack before it happened. She knew it was useless to blame herself, and she couldn't change the past, as Albus reminded her firmly several times, but she still felt somewhat responsible for the horrible condition Beatrice was found in. Although she attended the feast with everyone, a happy smile on her face while the cheers to a wonderful feast, she was a disaster inside. The food barely had a taste as she shoveled it in, only partially listening to the conversations around her. The students were a buzz, though she could tell several other members of the staff were on edge too. Afterward, Tom escorted her and Pomona up to the Hospital Wing so that she could stay there for the night. He would have stayed, but Albus pulled him out within ten minutes of leaving the feast. She was fairly sure the headmaster was going to ask him the same question; where had he been when Beatrice was attacked?

His alibi was spotless, unfortunately. Although she wanted to trust him, she still pulled Hagrid aside the next day and asked if he had run into Tom on the way back to the castle. He said he did, though he seemed incredibly uncomfortable about it, and it was then that she noticed the extent of his discomfort regarding anything to do with Tom Riddle. They apparently had a history, but Minerva decided long ago that it wasn't her place to ask either to divulge the details. If they really wanted to tell her, she was sure they would at some point. She thanked Hagrid kindly for the information, and then spent several of the following days in the staff room correcting exams. She was still on edge, unfortunately, so it was difficult to concentrate. In fact, she recalled going over one exam after she had marked it and realized she should have deducted at least six more points from the student's essay, changing the mark considerably in the end.

It was hard to focus when someone from her old house was in the hospital after such a horrible ordeal. Naturally, she had complete faith in Poppy. The woman worked magic with her mere fingers alone, and by the next day all of Beatrice's physical wounds had healed. When Minerva visited, she almost seemed like her usual, bubbly self. However, when she conferred with Poppy privately, the woman expressed a worry that some sort of magic had traumatized her on a deeper level. She planned to confer with the healers at St. Mungo's, and insisted Beatrice remained in the wing for the rest of the holiday. Thankfully, she allowed visitors for longer hours than usual, and Minerva grinned knowing that there would be people there to keep the girl company.

When she knew Beatrice was almost back to normal, Minerva felt a little more at ease. Tom had been shocking spectacular ever since their previous little tiff in the lavatory. He even met her one morning outside her room with a nice cup of tea, insisting he wanted her to start the day off better than her previous sullen mornings. A part of her wondered if he thought she might invite him in. It seemed inappropriate, but she thoroughly appreciated the thoughtful gesture. They did a lap around the castle together, sipping their tea and chatting about a recent Ministry scandal regarding the Minister and several of his secretary's. Tom seemed immensely pleased in the man's embarrassment, while Minerva thought all of it was a load of rubbish concocted by the newspapers to sell more stories. The way he laughed at her and kissed her temple almost felt as though he was patronizing her, and she had to firmly remind him that she had worked in the Ministry for the better part of her life, and she was well aware of the sort of man the Minister was, which meant her opinion on the matter was perfectly valid. That seemed to keep that gleam out of his eye, the one he donned sometimes when someone said something ridiculous in one of his lessons. She certainly didn't like it directed at her.

Otherwise, Tom had been an absolute gentleman. As promised, it seemed he wasn't interested in her for intimate relations. Well. He might be. Actually, he probably was, but as they spent quite some time together doing anything but touching one another physically, Minerva came to realize that he might just enjoy her company. Anything beyond that would be a bonus, she decided. It felt so strange being this familiar with him, considering she spent most of the term trying to oust him and whatever ridiculous plan he seemed to be unfurling. However, the more time she spent with him, the more she started to think she and Albus were too quick to judge the man. He seemed focused on getting his exams marked, held the duelling club for students who wanted to attend during the holidays, and found time to bring her tea in the morning. He certainly wasn't the man she expected. Although he was full of surprises, Minerva still had a bit of a wall up. She kept deeply personal information to herself, like her family background and her private estate in Scotland. They had talked about a number of issues over the days between Christmas and New Years Eve, but she was still sure to keep some things private, and she was sure he had done the same. There was a small trust growing between them, but she still knew neither was one hundred percent accepting of the other on all levels.

Now, New Years wasn't actually a holiday that Minerva really cared too much about. She understood the symbolic associations it carried, and it was always a good way to start things fresh with whatever had bothered her over the course of the year. Otherwise, she really didn't see the need for people to rush out and drink to their heart's desire, and do foolish things… In all honesty, to Minerva it was simply another night. When the next day arrived, it would be 1958 rather than 1957, and everything would be the _exact_ same as it always was. She knew the rest of the staff were going to use it as one last hurrah before the students returned. After all, it was only four more days until the term started fresh, and she was sure no one was ready to give up their hard-earned freedom after only two weeks. But, alas, they all knew the end was near, and they were going to use any chance they got to celebrate like a bunch of loons. Minerva decided she didn't want to drink to the point of excess like she had the first night she kissed Tom. Instead, she would have one glass of champagne, as Slughorn had boasted about ordering it in specially for the night, and then off to bed at a reasonable hour.

That morning, Tom had suggested ringing in the New Year in the Astronomy tower. It would be the best place to watch the fireworks Albus had prepared, and Minerva suspected he was looking for a little privacy. Well, if he had wanted that, he certainly shouldn't have said it in front of Pomona. Seconds later she had spread the word through the staff table, and everyone was abuzz with the thought of turning the classroom into a wonderful party room. Sinistra seemed slightly put off, another young professor only a few years her senior, but she eventually agreed to donate her room for the festivities. Tom had seemed momentarily put off with his plans spoiled, but he bounced back quickly, and offered to meet her at the base of the tower that night around half passed eleven so they could at least walk there alone. Meanwhile, Pomona suggested they get ready together and help one another select outfits for the night. Minerva was less than keen on the idea, and she had a sinking suspicion that her friend was on to her secret relations with Tom, but she eventually gave in and decided they could meet at eleven to get ready, but then arrive separately sometime at the tower around quarter to midnight. It wasn't as if she didn't want to spend time with the woman, but Tom _had_ asked her first, in all fairness. Therefore, she owed it to him to follow through on their plans.

She spent most of the day marking exams. It was such a hassle, but after many long days of reading essays thoroughly, and checking back over some of the ones she had done under her Beatrice-funk, Minerva was almost at an end. Soon there would be more to mark as the first round of assignments for the new year went out, but she wanted to have a few days of nothing before the term started again. So, she toiled endlessly, it seemed, and by the time dinner rolled around, she was nearly finished. A quick bite to eat, a few more essays, and Minerva gasped when she realized it was almost eleven. Abandoning her scattered papers for now, she set about discarding her clothing and slipping into a house coat. Pomona ought to arrive sometime soon, and they were going to pick through Minerva's wardrobe to find something suitable for the party that evening, apparently. It seemed that her friend was hell-bent on getting her out of her usual clothing, even though Minerva thought there was _nothing_ wrong with the usual garments. Besides, it wasn't as though Pomona was rolling in the latest fashions from London. Sure, she dressed up noticeably for parties and staff events, but otherwise her professional and causal wardrobe was fairly similar to her own. Pah.

Sweeping a piece of hair behind her ear, she studied her closet carefully in an attempt to scout out the dresses that would have Pomona's approval in advance. However, a light knock at her door drew her away. Gus stirred somewhat from his seemingly permanent position at the foot of her bed, but settled back down as she walked by him, the tips of her fingers lightly brushing his ear as she went. She leaned heavily against the door before pulling it open, fully expecting to see Pomona standing outside with some obscure bottle of wine. However, she ended up face to face with Tom instead, smiling handsomely at her in his well-coiffed suit.

"Tom," she gasped, hiding herself behind the door just a touch to keep him from poking fun at yet another flannel housecoat. "Weren't we meeting by the tower?"

In a half an hour. Like they had planned.

"I thought I might drop by and surprise you," he replied with a grin. "Apparently I've come too soon."

"Oh, well… Yes, I was just getting ready-"

"Why don't I help?"

"That's really not… necessary or… proper," she stammered as he invited himself in. "Tom!"

He slipped passed her with a smirk on his lips, and she let out an exasperated sigh as she shut the door. There was no way she could kick him out, mostly because she was sure he wouldn't go without some sort of a fight, and there probably wasn't time for it anyway. Although she was less than comfortable with him in her private chambers, she was fairly certain that he wasn't about to try to initiate something inappropriate. She was hardly put off by the fact that he had seen her in what she considered "private" clothing. After all, people seldom looked attractive in their robes for teaching, so she wasn't about to bemoan over the fact that Tom had now seen her in ordinary, plain robes as opposed to something glamorous. She was many things, but vanity never held a pointlessly high place in her persona. It was there, and it slowly grew whenever a man like Tom eyed her appreciatively, but that was so seldom that she barely paid any mind to it.

"I had a sinking suspicion all our rooms looked the same," she heard Tom mutter as she stepped out of her thin hallway and into her main quarters. He seemed to be giving her room a once over, neither impressed or put off by it, and finally shrugged.

"It's only fair, is it not?" Minerva inquired, "Why should some of us get larger rooms?"

"I always assumed seniority warranted something," he replied, staring down at Gus. The feline was now on his feet, tail flicking side to side irritably. Without another word, Tom reached out, almost as if to stroke him, but Gus tore off into the lavatory soundlessly. Minerva frowned. It was a fairly strange reaction for her typically mellow cat, but she shrugged it off. Despite his loving disposition of Minerva, Gus was usually coolly aloof to visitors, aside from Dumbledore, and it made sense that he wouldn't want to be touched by a stranger.

"He's shy," she mused as she returned to her closet, attempting to keep her composure. She certainly didn't want him to think that his invasion of her personal space made her feel on edge, despite the fact it did. "Now, I don't know what you're expecting, but-"

"Oh, calm down, Minerva," he sighed noisily as he leaned back against her bedpost, arms crossed. "I thought this was going to be a pleasant surprise, not one that would put you in a sour mood."

"I'm not in a sour mood," she snapped as she flicked through her dresses. "You've just spoiled my plans, that's all. Pomona will be here soon-"

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Oh?"

"Spotted her and Horace strolling along into his office when I left dinner this evening," Tom informed her. She glanced back over her shoulder and noticed he was picking at his nails, apparently bored, "I suspect she'll be preoccupied with him until they show up drunk to the Astronomy tower."

She pursed her lips, not wishing to think of her friend doing such a thing, but half-heartedly agreed with his prediction. Those two had certainly amped up their relations over the holidays, from what she had heard from the gossip pool – heard, not participated in, mind you – and she couldn't blame Pomona for wanting to spend her last few days of freedom with her man.

"I suppose you'll have to help me find something suitable to wear," Minerva replied after a few moments of silence. "That was her job tonight, but I suppose you'll do."

"Oh, how kind of you," he purred as he joined her in front of the closet, a hand on the small of her back. "You know, I've never had a problem with your fashion choices… Aside from… well, this."

He pinched at the fabric on her shoulders, looking down distastefully at her flannel, and she swatted his hand away. It earned her a bit of a chuckle, "It's just so horribly unattractive, Minerva."

"But warm," she countered defensively, "and appropriate should I ever be called out of bed for something official."

He rolled his eyes, "How often has that happened?"

"I'm always prepared, Riddle," she remarked curtly, flashing him a bit of a cheeky grin as she pulled out a flattering blue gown her mother bought her last winter. Before she could ask him what he thought, he placed his lips next to her ear, breath tickling her as he spoke.

"Don't you have something better than that?" he whispered, "You are always so cumbersome in your dresses, Minerva."

She frowned, "Cumbersome?"

"So much material," he clarified. "You make it terribly difficult for any man to want to take on the challenge of peeling it all off."

"Tom!" she gasped, looking back at him, eyes wide and scandalized, "Don't say things like that!"

"Why not?" he laughed, cupping the tip of her chin firmly before nudging in front of her, rummaging through her dresses himself, "I'm sure you know that thought has passed through my mind… more than once."

Her cheeks tinted and she looked away, a hand pressed against them to will them back to normal, "It's inappropriate."

"Even in private?" he asked, pausing at something, "There aren't any students hidden behind all these dresses, are there? Dumbledore isn't living under the bed?"

"Tom," she chided, a little exasperated with his tormenting. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm hardly the one being ridiculous," he insisted as he pulled a garment out, "just honest."

Minerva laughed loudly, a little more so than she intended, and he looked back at her, an eyebrow cocked. She couldn't quite explain the sheer irony of his honesty without upsetting him, so she merely turned away to set her choice to the evening on the bed.

"I like this," he said finally. Minerva turned back around, and then rolled her eyes. He had rummaged through her wardrobe and found the one winter dress she actually disliked. It was black, fitted, and went to her knees. The sleeves were full-length and came to a point at her middle finger, and it had the dreaded square-neck styling that seemed to be in fashion. A cousin of hers worked at a retail store in Dublin and had the audacity to send it to her this Christmas with a bit of a joke written in the card. It was so completely opposite to her fashion that, apparently, it seemed hilarious to give it to her.

"No," Minerva said firmly, shaking her head. "Put that back."

"Oh, come now," he chuckled, holding it up against her with a critical eye. "If you're going to be coming to the party on my arm, I think you should look as ravishing as possible."

"I think your expectations for tonight as a little high," she droned, swatting the dress away. "By the time we get there, I predict half of them will already be drunk, and the other half will be fighting each other for the best possible seat in the tower to the watch the fireworks."

He opened his mouth to fire back what would no doubt be some witty retort, but she held up her finger, "Also, I'm not going on your arm. We're going in together as… friends and colleagues."

"Is that what we are?"

"I don't really want to have this discussion again," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "We already talked about our behaviour in public-"

"Have I given you any reason to suspect I will behave poorly?" he asked coolly, the mirth slowly leaving his eyes.

"Honestly?" she droned, arching an eyebrow at him. She wanted to call him on some slightly ridiculous, though irrelevant, behaviour from the term, but she decided against it, "No, I suppose not."

"Good. Now, put the dress on."

"No, I don't like it," she argued. "I'm just going to wear the first one."

"No," Tom said suddenly, stepping between her and the bed. He shoved the dress into her arms, and then turned her around forcefully toward the bathroom, "I'm filling in for Pomona, and you know she'll be so displeased with me if you turn up looking as you normally do-"

"But she doesn't even know you're helping me-"

"So, you will put it on and when we've had a proper look at it, we can decide that you're going to wear it," he informed her as he walked her masterfully across the room and gave her a nudge into her bathroom. The lights flickered on just as he shut the door, and she glared at it for a moment. She wanted to be bitter and march right back out there, throw the dress in his face, and then send him on his way. Who did he think he was? He couldn't order her around in her own room!

This was ridiculous.

However, she knew she couldn't win an argument like this with Tom Riddle by throwing a hissy fit. He would call her out on it, and then look horribly superior. If she wanted to win, she had to prove that he was incorrect. So, she stripped out of her housecoat and pulling the dress on over her head, loosening her bun in the process. Once on, she kicked her housecoat the side and stood in front of her mirror, scrutinizing herself. It certainly showed off more of her figure than usual, but she still wasn't a fan, and she was going to need a pair of stockings to cover her pale, bare legs. Smoothing her hand over her slim stomach, she made a face in the mirror, still put off. This was surely going to persuade him. Giving Gus a bit of a look, shaking her head at his current location behind her toilet, she opened the door and stepped back in her bedroom, hearing a drawer shut and spotting Tom standing beside her bedside table.

"Were you going through my things?" she demanded.

"Yes," he remarked, hands folded together neatly in front of him. "Are you surprised?"

The question took her off guard, and she faltered for a moment before gathering her bearings, "No, not really."

"As I expected," he grinned, eyes wandering over her body. "You look lovely, by the way. Very modern."

"I don't like it," she insisted. "It's not appropriate for Hogwarts."

"Well, we'll have to get some stockings to cover those little legs of yours," Tom mused as he looked her over thoughtfully, "and we'll get your hair down."

"You aren't in charge of the way I look," she fired back, shifting her weight uncomfortably between legs as he took a few steps toward her, closing the space between him. "I'm going to wear the other one."

He cupped her cheek suddenly, sliding his hand back along her neck and into her hair, "I suppose you could… I'll just have to spend the rest of the night picturing how you look right now. You really do look… ravishing."

"Ravishing?" Minerva snorted, rolling her eyes a little. "Come now, Tom, don't use words you don't mean."

"I'll say whatever I please," he whispered, his grip tightening on her a little as he leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Wear this one for me. We may only be standing next to each other tonight, but I'd like every man here to be jealous."

She swallowed thickly, unable to push him away as her body prickled at his closeness, "I don't… think they'll be jealous."

"You really should give yourself more credit," he told her as he pulled away. "Your intelligence isn't the only thing that makes me desire you."

She flushed again and looked up at him, trying to decide if his compliment was genuine, or he just had an innate desire to win by getting her into that dress.

"Why don't you do your hair and I'll find you some stockings?" he asked, sauntering toward her drawers innocently. Her stockings were in the drawer with all of her other unmentionables, so she quickly hurried across the room and grabbed his hand.

"Why don't you just sit on the bed and I'll finish getting ready?" she suggested instead, making him smirk triumphantly. She didn't particularly want to wear the damn dress, but she also knew he wasn't going to let it go until she gave in, and it was already almost half past eleven. If he said she looked presentable, then she had no reason to not believe him.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**ARGH. I wanted this to be a two-parter, but looks like News Years will have to continue into a third part in the next chapter. I'm just about to start exams… tomorrow, in fact, and can't devote as much time to writing as I would like. I also can't force myself to stay up super late if I want to be functional to study. SO. I apologize, but to make up for it, the third and final instalment for this "chapter" will be a combination of both Voldemort and Minerva's points of view. And someone is going to get a bit handsy, but no telling who! So. Get excited! **

**Hearing Tom say 'ravishing' in my head makes me all giddy, but also for the LULZ because snake!Voldemort would probably have tea with Dumbles before he calls someone ravishing. Yeay for pre-snake versions of dashing!Tom. **


	22. That we're through

Minerva felt awkward. It wasn't the first time a man had ever been in her bedroom, but as Tom's eyes followed her lazily from the bed, something felt different. His gaze was forever calculating, and it seemed as though he planned everything he did some time before he went through with it. The experience was intimate, yet not. She had tossed her stockings on the bed, forgoing them until she had finished with her hair and exceptionally minimal make-up. During that time, she kept the door to her bathroom open, shooting Tom a look every so often to catch him on the off chance that he may rustle through her belongings again. Their conversation was minimal, but not uncomfortably so. It seemed adequate enough as she leaned close to the mirror, running a little bit of darker colour over her somewhat hooded eyelids. She still couldn't quite adjust to the feeling in the air. They were relaxed, yet on edge, and she realized that this was the first time they were alone in such a private location. Every other time they had been by themselves had been somewhere else in the castle that was technically considered a public domain.

Once her make-up was satisfactory, Minerva let her hair down completely and ran a hand through it, fluffing it enough to look presentable. With a dress that looked like this, fitted and short, she would have normally worn her hair up to play down any sort of sex appeal. Not that it was easy to find sex appeal in her appearance, but she was perfectly aware of what the dress implied to others. However, Tom insisted that she wear her hair down, that it looked the most flattering. He hadn't said it was 'ravishing', or in any way hinted that it made her look like some sex kitten, but she felt that his opinion on the matter was valid. If she knew anything about him, it was that he didn't just say things to spout off a string of useless compliments. If he didn't feel it, she was fairly sure he would keep his mouth shut and simply let her decide what to do with everything. That had to be the way with most men, after all; if they didn't want to, they wouldn't say anything at all. Naturally, that doesn't account for underlying motivations and underhanded ways, but at this very moments, Minerva was completely oblivious to any sort of ulterior motive that Tom could have, aside from getting his way with the dress… an argument which she let slide, unfortunately. If she hadn't, she was sure they would have been stuck in her room for quite some time, and people would definitely start to talk.

With a sigh, she gave herself one final look in the mirror before turning away, her eyes landing immediately on Gus. He had kept himself hidden away behind the toilet ever since Tom arrived, which wasn't completely unusual behaviour, but he did normally warm up once he realized Minerva was comfortable with her guest. Perhaps he sensed her tension with Tom present, and made his feelings perfectly clear by keeping a bit of a distance. She crouched down in front of him, her knees cracking noisily in the process, and then rubbed under his chin. He didn't exactly purr, nor did his tail flick side to side to signify hostility, so she took his neutrality toward her at the current moment in stride.

The lighting extinguished behind her as she stepped out of the lavatory, and she spotted Tom perched in the same position she had left him in. He gave her a once over, nodding appreciatively as he did, and then folded his hands in his stomach, legs dangling over the side of her bed as he returned his gaze to the ceiling.

"You approve, I take it?"

"Very much so," he replied, the tone of his voice hinting at some smugness. "If only we could be together publically… I would have so much fun showing you off."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snorted, snatching her stockings off the bed and taking a seat next to him. "Who would you show me off to? Hagrid? Slughorn? It's Hogwarts, Tom."

"Men are men, _Minerva_," he remarked, sitting up quickly and grabbing the wrist of the hand that held her silk hosiery, startling her. "Wait."

"What are-"

"Let me do that," he insisted, gently prying the stockings from her fingers and sliding off the bed to his knees. She stared at him, a little stunned for a moment, but quickly snapped back to reality when she felt his cool hands on her ankles. He lifted the left one up, thumbs running over the smooth flesh on the top of her feet, and then shifted so that he could set it on top of his knee.

"What are you doing?" she whispered as he rolled the pale, black silk stocking down, and then set it at the base of her foot. Why wasn't she stopping him? Perhaps it was a morbid curiosity regarding exactly what his intentions her, but as he started to roll the garment up her foot and over her heel, it seemed perfectly obvious. Her cheeks tinted when his nimble fingers continued to unravel the stocking on her slim leg, rolling it up higher and higher until it reached the base of her knee. Finally, she put a hand on top of his, a breathy protest catching in her throat, and he glanced up at her, an eyebrow cocked. She forced a bit a smile, clearly doing nothing to hide her discomfort, and then cleared her throat, "That's far enough."

"Isn't this what you women want us to do?" he inquired softly, hooking one arm under her knees and dragging her toward him, "Isn't this what you would define as a romantic gesture? Something intimate, yet reserved?"

"I wasn't aware that was the definition," Minerva replied, her insides clenching a little when he reached under her skirt just far enough to grab the garter attachments. She heard the reassuring click, and the stocking was in place. Without another word, he moved onto her right leg with the same deliberate slowness as the other. She let him do it completely this time, her skin prickling whenever his fingers grazed it, until she heard the same snaps of the garter, and the familiar tug of her stockings resting perfectly in place. Putting them on was second nature for her, and had been since her early teens. He had made such a normal activity almost erotic, sensual, and in his words, romantic. Her body had reacted to the touch, yes, but her mind remained firmly on the defensive. The cool fingers under her skirt set of hundreds of alarm bells in her brain, but she quieted them forcefully when he retracted his hands, keeping it, as he said, reserved.

It was just then that a thought occurred to her. He had asked her something; isn't this what women want? Was he doing this because he thought she expected it? They weren't an item by any stretch, but they did have some kind of relationship… Perhaps he, like her, was fairly new to this complex realm of male and female relations. Sure, neither was virginal, but if he was anything, Tom was oddly consistent in his strange mannerisms. Women normally wouldn't put up with what appeared to be flighty, arrogant, and insensitive behaviour, but Minerva somehow managed. Therefore, he probably hadn't had many real relationships in the past. While she felt uncomfortable now with his actions, she realized he may have done it in some odd attempt at fitting the image of a romantic companion. If she rebuffed him now, perhaps he would swing back around and simply come at her from a sexual angle, with more rendezvous in storage closets and the like. Not that Minerva was completely against the idea, but it almost seemed like a waste of time for the two to simply have a physical relationship behind the scenes. After all, it seemed like a huge distraction from work.

Therefore, she decided to reward rather than discourage, despite how much the sudden touching made her squirm. Perhaps it came from lingering feelings of mistrust of the man himself, which was completely understandable. If she drew closer to him, and it turns out Dumbledore was simply paranoid of this strange man, the discomfort of romantic advances may fade entirely. So, licking her lips a little, she leaned down to kiss him, but he beat her to it and planted a quick peck on her cheek. He then glanced down at his wristwatch and frowned, "We better be off… Don't want to miss midnight, do we?"

She looked at the accessory and then groaned, "It's already quarter to?"

"I think you underestimate just how much time you spend on your make-up," he mused as he pushed himself off the ground.

"I do not," she argued as she too rose, quickly slipping into a pair of kitten heels and running a hand through her lengthy hair, which trailed down her back. "You were distracting me."

"I tend to do that, unfortunately," he chuckled. She smirked a little as he grabbed her hand and walked her out of her room, clutching it still when they marched down the dimly lit hallways together.

She finally pulled it away when a group of giggling sixth year girls stumbled out from an empty classroom. Both parties came to an awkward halt, and Minerva spotted the only Hufflepuff, Marcia Walsh, hide a bottle of something dark behind her back. They seemed mortified to be caught, and she was about to reprimand them for public drunken behaviour when she felt Tom's hand press on the small of her back.

"Have a wonderful night, ladies," he purred smoothly, making one blush. "Try to keep the noise at an appropriate level after midnight."

"Of course, Professor Riddle," Marcia grinned, clearly relieved not to lose any house points at Minerva's hand. "Happy New Year, Professor Riddle, Professor McGonagall."

"Happy New Year," Minerva returned somewhat stiffly, and she watched as the group carried on, whispering to one another once they thought they were in the clear. "You know, we could have at least taken their alcohol away. It's against school rules to have any."

"Oh, don't be such a bore, Minerva," he sighed, easing her forward with a slight push on her back, his hand lingering. "It's a special night… Even Dumbledore gave them a night of freedom. Why should we spoil it for them?"

"Because it's policy-"

He sighed pointedly again, and she shut her mouth, lips in a displeased line. He had a point, and she knew she was only on edge because the girls had seen them walking together in a less than professional light, not because of their drinking. Yes, it was against the rules, but everyone else on the staff team was probably quite pissed at this point, so why be awful to others trying to ring in the new year with their friends? However, she wasn't about to admit the real reason, and decided to concede, once again, to avoid some sort of silly argument. It simply wasn't worth the energy he took when they occasionally did come to verbal blows.

As they rounded the corner toward the staircase that led to the entrance of the Astronomy Tower, Minerva spotted Pomona waiting at the base, a glass of something clear in her hand. She felt Tom's hand fall away from her, and she shot him a very brief appreciative look before hurrying ahead to greet her friend, "I think we've just made it."

"Actually, Horace is still lagging behind a bit," the woman remarked, rolling her eyes a little. "You look lovely… I would have never thought you'd wear something like this!"

"Yes… Well, I… I wanted something different," she managed as Tom strolled up to the pair. Much to her surprise, he leaned down and gave Pomona an odd sort of kiss on the cheek, beamed that she looked wonderful, and asked how her night had been. Shockingly, Pomona blushed a brilliant red and batted Tom away with her hand playfully. She then beckoned the pair to follow her up the staircase, as though their appearance together was the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes narrowed a hint. Had Pomona been in on her relationship with Riddle and she was unaware of her friend's involvement? The thought made her uncomfortable, despite the fact that Pomona was one of her closest friends in the castle. The very idea of _anyone_ being an insider into something so private was fairly unnerving in itself.

Shaking her head, she walked up the staircase in silence, smiling at her friend as she regaled her with snippets of the first half of the party. Apparently almost everyone had arrived in the classroom around eleven, much to Sinistra's displeasure. However, once they all swore not to damage any of her prized possessions, the woman apparently relaxed a touch and let the party commence. Albus had been in and out for most of the night, most likely to ensure the house elves had a proper grasp on the firework display for midnight.

Tom held the door open for the pair of women as they strolled into the large classroom, and Minerva paused for a moment to take it all in. It was the largest point in the whole castle, and made the perfect location for stargazing. Aurora had various star charts and maps lining the walls, as if they were a part of the night's skyline. The room with circular and had several rows of connecting desks ascending up around a podium in the middle. There were several large holes in the ceiling, and Minerva assumed they used them for examining the constellations. She hadn't exactly been a fan of astronomy when she was in school, though that wasn't to say she didn't enjoy it. The lectures were always interesting, but she found the subject, on the whole, rather useless toward her future, and dropped it as soon as she had the chance. However, seeing the impressive star charts and detailed drawings on the walls, she decided she might try to sneak in to an upper year lecture to get a feel for what more detailed lessons might entail.

When she looked back over her shoulder, she noticed Tom had drifted toward the drink bar, which suited her just fine. The members of her staff team spread out around the room, some perched on the balcony surrounding the tower, huddling together under blankets, while others sat on some of the narrow spiraling staircases near the back of the room, deep in conversation. As far as she could tell, no one was absolutely piss drunk out of their minds thus far, which made for a promising start of the night. The previous year, Hooch and Poppy were already shrieking like vultures over their drinks well before midnight, and it only went downhill from there. Honestly, people assume that as they get older, their ability to manage alcohol will increase. In reality, their tolerance dips, and they find themselves unable to hold their liquor weight much faster than the glory days of their youth.

A hand touched her arm lightly, and she jerked away in surprise, too engrossed in her study of the classroom to pay attention to her actual surroundings. She found Albus standing behind her, a kind, somewhat apologetic, smile on his lips as he linked her arm around his, "A word?"

"Of course," she grinned, happily taking his lead as he walked her to one of the circular windows. She gazed through it, admiring the way the glass was tinted a light blue. It really made the Hogwarts grounds look elegant in a blanket of snow.

"Have you been having a pleasant holiday?" he inquired lightly, patting her hand as they stood together admiring the grounds. His tone seemed careful, which put Minerva on edge quickly.

"Yes, aside from the incident," she replied. "What's wrong?"

"Why would you think anything is wrong? It's a lovely night-"

"You've got that look… and that tone," Minerva told him frankly, looking him straight in the eye. "You know you can say anything to me. You needn't dance around it."

"I suppose you know my mannerisms too well," he sighed, giving her a little smile. "I wanted to discuss Riddle with you briefly."

"Oh?"

"I know you are keeping a careful eye on him, not to fret," Dumbledore insisted. "However, I want you to know that you should not feel obligated to have anything more than a professional relationship with him on my behalf."

Minerva blinked, slightly dumbfounded at his observation. For a moment, she was unsure of how she should react to it. Clearing her throat, she arched an eyebrow at him, "I… wouldn't put myself in a situation that I couldn't handle."

"I don't doubt your ability to handle yourself," he murmured, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, which managed to calm her racing mind better than any words might. "I merely wanted to clarify my position on the situation. Do not feel that you are required to do more than our original plan for me."

"Stop it, Albus," she muttered, forcing a smile. "If I found myself in over my head, you know I would come to you."

He studied her for a moment, and Minerva noticed his face seemed to relax a little when he spoke again, "Of course. I simply wanted to discuss it with you before we start the next term… We both know how busy everything will be."

"I understand," she said with a nod. "I know you're really quite harmless, Albus."

"You're one of the few who has that opinion of me, I'm afraid," he laughed. "Now, can I get you something to drink to ring in the New Year?"

"Oh, I'll find something," she insisted, patting his arm. "I don't want another drunken night… It'll be one glass for me."

* * *

><p>Voldemort felt smug. Everything about what had just occurred was a victory in his efforts to gain control over one of his more formidable, and somewhat annoying, opponent in the castle. Minerva certainly wasn't the usual daft cow that most women were once they filtered through the school system. She was intelligent, attractive, and frustratingly shrewd when it came to analyzing his behaviour. However, he as the events unfolded in her room that night, Voldemort finally believed he had found a small hole in her defenses to chip away at. From her hair to her dress, Voldemort had a say in her most basic being for the night. By dressing her, he asserted his influence on how she would act and feel for the night. She might have felt self-conscious with the outfit, and that could affect her interactions during the party. If all went according to plan, she would drift back to him to find some sort of comfort as he was the one who so thoroughly complimented her. He had won everything that night. He got her into the dress she would never wear and smoothed his hands along on those lovely legs more than she was comfortable with. All in all, Voldemort emerged victorious over Minerva McGonagall in an obscure sort of way, but a pleasing one all the same.<p>

With a glass of whiskey in his hand, mostly for show, he leaned against the wall near a small door that led to the balcony. He kept a careful eye on the party, judging each person carefully to assess for any potential threats that night. For the most part, the staff members that he bothered to interact with seemed to think a 'cute' little relationship between him and Minerva was favourable. However, Dumbledore was always a threat to his plans. In fact, the old bastard swooped in almost as soon as they arrived in the tower to talk with her about something. Most likely, their conversation involved him. He wasn't being narcissistic about it; rather, he assumed he was the centre of their chat because Albus took the woman away from Sprout for a private talk. If it had been almost anything else, Voldemort was fairly sure Albus could at least speak in code adequately enough to keep her in front of others.

Frowning, he took a sip of his drink, barely wincing at the taste, and narrowed his eyes on the pair across the room. Their discussion was brief, and Minerva walked away smiling toward the bar. He kept his distance, for now. He wanted her to feel compelled to be with him as her discomfort with her appearance; something he assumed would gnaw away at her as she became more immersed she in the party. There were already male colleagues giving her looks that he knew all too well, and if he picked up on it, she was sure to follow within the next ten minutes or so. As much as he hated to admit it, she was never more than a step or two behind him. Voldemort watched as she walked past the caretaker, barely noticing his eyes on her legs. Not to worry… She would notice soon enough, he thought with a grin. Then she would start to feel the eyes from all over the room. It was a big change from her usual appearance. People would whisper, and sweet Minerva, so unwilling to acknowledge her pleasant features, would start to feel incredibly uncomfortable, despite the fact the comments will no doubt be flattering.

"You certainly did well with her," Pomona whispered, sidling up to him so quickly that he almost flinched. His lip twitched in distaste, but he forced something of a smile.

"Yes, I think she looks lovely."

"I'm a little sad I missed you winning that argument," she giggled, patting his arm in a way that indicated their brief chats regarding Minerva or teaching procedures had some effect on their non-existent friendship. As much as the woman drove him mad, with her squat appearance and her insufferably large knowledge about the plant world, he knew she was useful to have on his side.

"She was resistant, but I think she could start to see reason after I presented my case," Voldemort insisted.

"I'm sure you can be very persuasive when you want to be," Sprout said decidedly, winking at him before taking a sip of her too-full glass. He smiled as she toddled off back to Slughorn, and he squared his shoulders as though shaking off the look she gave him. What Horace saw in this woman was completely beyond his understanding. Yes, Minerva had several frustrating traits, but at least she looked ravishing in a short dress and stockings, which certainly couldn't be said for Pomona Sprout.

With the mild distraction gone on her own, Voldemort returned his gaze to his target, smirking when he noticed an arm crossed of her chest while her other hand clutched her drink. The worry was starting, surely. As he heard Albus calling for the attention of the room, he spotted Minerva take a relatively large swig of her drink.

Success. She'd be back at his side soon, and if he played his cards right, she might even wander back to his room drunkenly when the party finished. Now, even drunk he was sure she wouldn't sleep with him, but that wasn't exactly the goal. Voldemort would take her mind over her physical submission any day. Clearing his throat, he took another sip and cocked his head to the side, eyes now on Dumbledore as he stood by the teaching podium. He raised a slim glass of sparkling liquid, and beamed at everyone.

"We have five minutes to the start of the new year," he told them, his ridiculous beard wiggling under his chin, blanketing his purple robes. "I will keep my toast short so that we do not miss the start of the firework display. Thank you for remaining professional over this difficult holiday season. As always, my faith in you all to do the right thing in the face of travesty remains unshaken. We had an excellent term… Wonderful Quidditch matches, a Halloween gala, and successful results on our exams. Disciplinary actions have been minimal, and student organizations thrive under your watchful eye. Thank you. Thank you for your patience, kindness, and loyalty to Hogwarts. I couldn't have asked for a better group of people to work with. May our year to come continue on this path. Cheers, my friends."

Voldemort raised his glass, but refused to join in on the cheering. Not that he was too dignified for it, but he didn't agree with it. This year certainly wasn't going to be a splendid ride for them, not if he could help it. However, he drank all the same, toasting his own lofty goals, and soon joined the rest of his colleagues outside in the cool air. Moments later, someone announced it was midnight, and bright colours of light flew up rapidly from the lake. For a brief moment, he lost himself in the mirth of the light display. It was a very short moment where he felt truly peaceful. It passed before he realized it actually existed. Pursing his lips, he took another sip of his drink and then slipped back inside, leaving the rest of them to enjoy the show for another ten minutes or so.

He strolled along the balcony doors, the multiple few that ran along the walls, and finally found Minerva standing between Dumbledore and Sprout. Instead of joining her, he waited inside. Slowly, the rest of the staff filtered in, shaking hands, hugging, and wishing their colleagues a pleasant new year. The drinks flowed. Horace boasted about his expensive Italian wines. Dumbledore made his rounds, pausing for a few moments to shake Voldemort's hand and wish him a pleasant start of the year. It felt forced, but he put in as much effort into the act as the old man did, and to onlookers, the exchange must have looked almost pleasant. Within a minute he was gone. Food circulated. People laughed. It was really quite festive. They all seemed so thrilled, despite the fact that today was just like any other day.

Eventually, he was dragged into some monotonous conversation with Slughorn and Vector regarding the proper age of wine, and eventually a rather lively discussion on the Ministry's new tariffs on the importation of goods from Europe. He wanted to hex his brains out piece by piece. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy that sort of talk, but Vector had ridiculously safe opinions on all things related to the Ministry, and Slughorn was a little too intoxicated at that point to take seriously. He found his escape over Vector's shoulder. Minerva's cheeks seemed flushed, and when she laughed, she tossed her head back in an abandonment usually only found with alcohol in her system. Smirking, he excused himself from the conversation, navigating through the room with ease as the only real sober one amongst the drunks.

He would have never guessed the professors in this damn school were such drunks. Minerva's glass was empty on his approach, and he couldn't help but wonder just how many drinks she had downed to get her cheeks that coloured. He had yet to wish her a happy new year, and as he swooped in, his arm curving around her slim waist to pull her away from her conversation with Hooch and Pomfrey. She seemed to try to protest, but he leaned down and kissed her quickly before she could, which earned a bit of a gasp from Pomfrey.

"Happy New Year," he whispered, watching her face darken as she untangled herself from him.

"Are you drunk?" she hissed, glaring at him with a clarity he hadn't predicted. Frowning, he shook his head, and she added quietly, "Neither am I. You promised nothing in public. You _promised_."

He stared at her, baffled. Had he read the signs wrong? Her drink was empty and her cheeks were flushed. She hardly seemed uncomfortable in her outfit, and yet her irate glare made him think she had perfect control of her senses. Before he could stop her, she stormed off, making a beeline for the door and disappearing through it. To make matters worse, he had two nosy women ogling him. Restraining himself, he forced a smile, "Ladies."

That seemed enough to send them off, leaving him to stew in his drink. What the Hell had just happened? Yes, he may have misjudged how intoxicated she was, but hadn't he been dashing enough all night for her to grant him some leniency? Everyone here was so into themselves and their drinks that they were bound to miss one quick kiss anyway, aside from the audience present at the time. He was tempted to go after her. Even in her heated state, he ought to be able to calm her down enough when they were alone to regain the upper hand. However, with Dumbledore loitering by the doorway, a penetrating blue-eyed stare in Voldemort's direction, he decided to simply let it go. Instead, he drifted back outside, using the chilly air to clear his mind to rethink his new approach.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Welcome to me thinking I would have time to write during my exam period. NOPE. It was brutal… okay in the end, but the process literally destroyed my wrists for a few days after a lot of typing notes and poor posture. Fail. So that's why this took forever to get done. **

**ANYWAY. I was pretty excited to write this. I wanted to show how completely off they both are about each other, yet oddly correct in certain ways. Minerva is probably pretty legit in thinking that if she doesn't drop it, he'll just rant on forever until he wins. And he has probable cause thinking she's being submissive… and yet they're both wrong. It's fun. And horribly twisted, and I feel awful. **

**I also don't think Minerva is the type of person for a dramatic walk-out over issues, but I think it was justifiable here. Dumbles is watching closely, and Tom broke their cardinal rule about publicity. RAGE. And he's the typical bro being all 'WTF, woman?' and getting pissy himself. Love. Love, love, love. I don't think I have them this dynamic the last time I wrote a MM/TR story… I don't really remember it, but it's up here if you're interested in a very old perspective of what could have been a school-days relationship. I think this one is better, personally, but then again, I can't really remember it. ANYWHO. **

**Also. I cringe at all the Sprout bashing in the Voldemort POVs. It makes me sad. Way to pick at a woman's weak spots, jerk. **

**Let's get ready for the new year. We all know it's going to be full of drama and scandal! **

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews. They really make it worthwhile and get me excited to keep going! **


	23. It's empty in the valley of your heart

Minerva had yet to forgive Tom for his abrupt and unnecessary kiss in front of an audience during the New Year's celebration. They had barely spoken since, and the one time they did, Minerva informed him that the only way they could get passed it was if he apologized. Naturally, Tom didn't think that there was anything to apologize for, and from there she sent him on his way coldly. She wasn't _that_ angry with him. At first she had been furious. How dare he break his promise in such a public way? She couldn't bring herself to meet Albus' eye as she stormed out of the tower, calling it an early night to avoid any further humiliation in front of her colleagues. Most of them were probably too intoxicated to remember, mind you, but Minerva had no intention of keeping that reputation floating around; she wasn't some easy woman that let men kiss her at parties, nor did she want any other man who may have witnessed it to continue with that idea. Besides, she certainly did not want any of them getting the idea that she and Tom were together. At this point, she was barely sure herself about how to classify their relationship, so she did not need anyone else trying to make that assumption for her.

The day following her incident, before Tom had come knocking at her door, Albus visited first. He first expressed his concern for her, insisting that he knew her well enough to know something of that nature would make her uncomfortable. When she assured him that she was fine, aside from her embarrassment whenever she joined the rest of the staff for a meal, he moved on to a more serious topic; her assignment. After witnessing the kiss, Albus told her that he no longer held her to any obligation to follow Tom. Whether Minerva had encouraged any sort of romantic affections or not, Albus insisted that she no longer had to have any interaction with the man, aside from a professional one, unless she was able to handle him. Minerva genuinely thought it over, but in the end informed her mentor and friend that Tom kissing her wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It meant some sort of trust had developed between them, and if she desired, she could probably keep an even closer eye on him from that point onward. Albus remained skeptical throughout the conversation, which was frustrating, but eventually they came to a consensus that Minerva would continue to monitor Tom's class and keep an eye out for trouble so long as she was still comfortable in that situation.

After that, unfortunately, Tom paid her a visit, and they had something of an argument in the late evening. It wasn't the best way to start off a new year, and in the end Minerva kicked him out angrily, slamming the door in his face before he could get his final word in. It was a little dramatic, and hardly like herself, but the fact that he wouldn't budge an inch on his perspective drove her mad throughout the argument. He argued that the kiss was perfectly acceptable; they were celebrating a special event with friends. Minerva called him out on it quickly, insisting that it was in a public place, and therefore highly inappropriate. It may work for Pomona and Slughorn, but Tom should have known from the start, which was two weeks ago at best, that Minerva did not want a relationship like theirs while at Hogwarts. The two almost flaunted it now, and everyone on the staff team knew about their affairs. While Minerva wasn't opposed to the relationship, she was opposed to every single person knowing so many intimate details about her life. Gossip traveled quickly. Tom, of course, thought that was ridiculous. He considered 'public' to be in front of the students, not in front of people they considered close friends and acquaintances.

He took it a step further, demanding to know if she was embarrassed at the thought of being with him in a more public setting. She called him ridiculous. He said that she didn't deny it, and she promptly threw him out of her room, insisting that they could continue the conversation when he grew up a little. She then slammed the door.

In the aftermath of the row, Minerva sat on the edge of her bed, her hands quivering in her lap as she glared angrily at a spot on the floor. He was like reasoning with a brick wall, and all of Dumbledore's worries aside, she doubted for a moment that she was even interested in doing _anything_ with Tom Riddle romantically. At that point, Gus finally crawled out from his hiding spot under her bed and found a warm spot on her lap, purring the moment she touched his soft ears.

There was still about four more days to go until the new term started, three until the students returned on the train, and Minerva decided to take an impromptu vacation. She packed up her things, bid farewell to Albus and Pomona, put Gus in his carrier, and returned to her countryside home in Scotland for the remainder of the holidays. All her assignments had been marked, and her lesson plans were finished for the year, so she spent the holiday reading and visiting with neighbours. She spent a day or so with the neighbours who boarded her horses while she was away, smiling when she tied the animals up to a sleigh and took her for a ride around their own country estate. The Muggles were particularly fond of her horses, and although they did enjoy Minerva's company too, they always seemed so excited whenever she left for her teaching job at her private boarding school. She couldn't have picked better people to mind her animals.

Aside from visiting neighbours, she actually spent one evening with her parents, who were thoroughly pleased that she had come home this time. It was short and sweet, and more than enough for Minerva with her mother prying into her private life. The torture only lasted a few hours, after her father changed the subject to more pressing matters in the wizarding world – corruption in the Ministry, rebel forces gaining support in southern England, and other matters of a similar nature. She really did miss a lot while she was in school, despite reading a great deal of the Daily Prophet whenever she had the time with breakfast.

For the last day of her holiday, she spent it in her feline form to have a little bit more of a familiar time with Gus. They frolicked around the house, even ventured outside for a little while to chase some of mice that were bold enough to go out in the snow – none of which Minerva caught herself, but she still accepted the gifts Gus procured for her. His emotions were much easier to pick up on when she was a cat, and for the entire day, his mood never dampened. She only returned to her human form once to set up a meal for them both, which she forced herself to eat as a cat. It tasted just fine, though had she been human, the ingestion of cat food probably would have made her sick. When the day was done, they curled up on her worn sofa in front of the fireplace and slept the night away together. His mood soured when morning came and she returned to normal, packing up her things as she spoke reassuring words to him. Although he liked Hogwarts, her home here had much more room for him to roam around in, and he was usually displeased whenever they had to return to the castle.

When she finally did, it was late in the evening, and she took her supper in Pomona's office to fill her in on the holiday. She became pointedly irritated when the woman brought up Tom, and eventually she stopped, even though the conversation topic seemed to interest her immensely. When that was over with, Minerva spent the remainder of the night setting up her classroom for the next week, and then retired early, still having not seen or spoken with Tom since her return.

The next day, a Sunday, the students returned. Most were in high spirits, still filled with good feelings from the holidays, and she was genuinely happy to see most of them. She stood at the main entrance with several other professors to welcome them back to Hogwarts. Tom and Hagrid had been banished to the tracks to help students off the train, so once again Minerva was spared any long periods of time with him. She had managed to time her meals so that she would miss him too. Immature? Perhaps, but she had left it up to him to apologize, and he had yet to seek her out, so she decided that she shouldn't make it any easier for him.

Roger Wood was quick to find her from across the courtyard, and she waved back politely as he greeted her from afar.

"How was your Christmas?" he inquired when he was close enough, "Did you like the gift?"

"I recall the message being a little snarky, Mr. Wood," she mused, a thin eyebrow shooting up, "but I suppose I'll no longer embarrass myself with my old gloves. That was your intention, was it not?"

"Of course," he beamed, shrugging a little as he readjusted the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. "I've just got your best interest in mind, Professor."

"And I have yours," Minerva grinned. "Now get inside before you catch a cold. Off you go, Wood!"

He laughed a little as she ushered him inside. He wasn't as heavily covered in cloaks and mittens and hats like she was, and she repeated her gesture with many students who paused for too long outside without the adequate dress. The day was very long, as there were three trains that left the London station at different times over the course of the day. It was a new procedure they were trying to give parents more of an option about when they wanted to return their child, but it did make it a bit of a pain on the professors who had to greet everyone. Tom and Hagrid were surely the worst off, as they only had the train station terminal to wait around in between trains, which were about an hour apart, while the rest of the professors could disappear inside to have something warm to drink. Finally, the last train rolled in, and seemed to be the fullest one yet. Minerva shivered outside until the very last student was in. When that was over with, she disappeared into her room to partake in a very hot bath before the feast that evening.

It was a glorious feast, as they all were, and Minerva laughed away happily from her position between Pomona and Slughorn, who were to the right of Albus. Only once did she catch Tom's eye from the left side of the table while she listened to a story from Vector, and she hastily looked on, pretending to be more enraptured with the slightly dull tale than she truly was. Nothing was going to spoil her evening, which had been excellent. The food was above par, and it filled her heart with happiness to hear the hall full of voices again. As much as they drove her insane at times, Minerva was quite pleased to have Hogwarts filled with little faces again. Dumbledore only gave one short speech that night, between dinner and dessert, and when it was over, Minerva felt exhausted once again. She declined Pomona's offer to join everyone in the staff room for drinks, as they wanted their last hurrah before the term officially commenced, and instead retired early with Gus in the crook of her neck.

He really did think he still weighed the same as he did when he was a kitten. Eventually she had to shove him off, the strain on her neck too much, but when she woke up early the next morning, he had wrapped himself up in her hair happily to make up for the lack of direct bodily contact. The result was an absolute disaster for her hair, which she somehow managed to tame before her first lesson. It was with her seventh years, most of whom she was fairly close with if they gave her the chance to be.

She arrived in her classroom sometime around five minutes before the lesson was meant to start, and most of them had already found a seat in the room. Roger Wood, along with several other members of the Gryffindor team, took a seat in the centre of the room, neither up at the front, nor at the very far back. For some reason, she decided he had picked the perfect seat for their relationship. He wasn't directly in front of her, overbearing and obvious, nor did he hide away in the back to seem like he was keeping a respectful distance. She smiled at him, which he returned, and she was quick to give that same smile the people around him. It was fairly obvious that she was in a good mood, and most of her students would rightly guess it was because she was back in her element; the front of a classroom. She grabbed a piece of chalk on the board and scribbled the lesson plan for the day neatly, which would consist of transfiguring live pigeons into kettles and their eggs into cups, and then successfully returning them to their original state without harming the eggs. It was a fairly complex procedure, but she was confident in her students this year that they would be successful with whatever she threw at them. These ones were remarkably bright, and Minerva had a greater confidence in them then she did her seventh year pupils previously.

Once finished, she turned around to address her pupils, only to fumble over her words when she spotted Tom bloody Riddle seated at the back of the room, a clipboard and quill in hand. Glancing at the clock, she saw that she still had a minute before the lesson had to start, so she could afford to confront him now. Lips pressed together tightly, she marched to the back of the room, pleased that the students were still engaged in small side conversations, and stopped directly in front of him, hands on her hips.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, an eyebrow quirking curiously. She noticed that he had quickly scribbled down the same lesson plan she had written on the board into his parchment. It also appeared he was making comments beside each step.

"Are you the only one that has the privilege to monitor classes, Minerva?" he droned softly as he cocked his head to the side, "It would be highly hypocritical of you if you sent me away."

Her lips remained pursed, cheeks slightly flushed, and she hissed, "You're impossible."

He smiled sweetly up at her, and the nodded toward the clock. Her lesson had started. Taking a few calming breaths, she returned to the front of the classroom. Roger seemed to have taken an interest in Riddle, and he looked back at her only when she started speaking about what the day's assignment consisted of. Each student was to pair up and work together for optimal success. When she had finished clarifying some of her instructions, she sent them all on their way.

There was a rustle of chairs, birds and chatter as the class commenced. The birds were housed in a large cage at the back, and although many were distressed about the students touching their eggs, she wanted them to figure out that the sooner they transfigured the creatures into kettles, the easier it would be to work on the eggs. However, that was something they needed to come up with on their own. In the meantime, Minerva moved between the pairs of students to monitor their progress. Some she stopped to talk with, but most of the time she just observed silently, making mental notes about hand movement and success rates on the first time around. Some students had trouble getting their kettles to lack a set of feathers, while others quickly transfigured their birds into smooth, round, perfect little tea kettles. She made it very clear that should anyone drop an egg, they would be docked house points and receive a fairly low grade for the day. Now, should something happen to the eggs during a spell, the punishment would be less severe. Carelessness would not be tolerated.

She paused with Roger Wood and his partner for a moment, clucking her tongue at both of them as they struggled with their pigeons. He was a good lad, Roger, but he wasn't the brightest in her classes. Smart, yes, but never the shining star of the class. She moved on after they asked for some tips and spent several very long minutes helping a pair of Hufflepuffs move the creatures from their cages to their work station. They seemed to have picked a pair of unruly birds, unfortunately. Aside from a few slip ups, her students seemed to be progressing fairly well without her help. One student, however, seemed to look for help outside of her guidance. She arched an eyebrow when she spotted Evelyn, a seventh year Slytherin girl, chatting with Tom about an hour into the two hour period.

"Is there a reason you are not working on your cups, Evelyn?" Minerva inquired when she nodded back to the girl's station. Her eggs lay scattered around it while her partner grappled with his pigeon. The girl batted her eyes innocently.

"Oh, I had a question."

"And you decided to ask Professor Riddle?"

"Yes."

"Was it involving Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Minerva continued curtly, and the girl's cheeks flushed a little.

"No, I-"

"Imagine that," she mused. "I suggest you speak with the professor who teaches this class should you have any problems with the material."

"Of course, Professor McGonagall."

"Now, what did you need?"

"Oh, nothing, I figured it out on my own," Evelyn replied smoothly before returning to her station. Tom opened his mouth to say something, but Minerva turned away quickly to inform the class they had ten more minutes to transfigure their tea sets, and then they would go about turning everything back to the way it was before. That certainly caused a panic. She moved around between the frantic students, helping where she could, but when time was up, she had to grade the finished product. Most did well, minus the few who still had hints of feathers here and there. Once she had graded everyone, she instructed them to return the kettle and cups to their original state in a much shorter time than they had to do the transfigurations.

It was a bit of a stretch, but everyone managed to get their original birds back before the class had finished. It was much easier to turn things back than change them completely, and she was pleased when she went around to each work station to see that everyone had been successful during that round. With her grades recorded, she asked everyone to clean up, and they were then dismissed. Eventually, the room was empty, save for herself and Tom. She busied herself at the front, erasing the board and writing up the assignment for her next class, which there was a fifteen minute gap until it started. She vaguely heard some sort of shuffling around at the back of the room, and when she turned around, she saw that he had gathered up his things and was making his way to the front of the room.

"A very enlightening lesson, Professor McGonagall," he noted, glancing down at his notes before grinning at her. "I think, should I ever not wish to purchase my own tea kettle, I have every confidence in myself to get one from the feral pigeons around my flat."

She said nothing in return. Instead, she stared at him, an eyebrow up, arms folded across her chest. The tension was clear, but she certainly wasn't about to be the one to break it. Finally, he rolled his eyes and sighed, setting his things down on a nearby desk, "Look, I didn't come here to monitor your class."

"Oh really?" she asked, sarcasm dripping venomously, "Here I thought my teaching practices were under investigation! Thank goodness you've told me otherwise."

"Stop it, Minerva."

"Is there something else you'd like to say?" she demanded, glancing up at the clock, "I'll have students arriving soon."

He sighed again, and then took a step closer, "I want to apologize for breaking our agreement about public displays of affection."

"Why?"

His eyes narrowed at her, and she realized that apologies certainly weren't his strong suit, "I have thought about it, and I understand why you feel uncomfortable with idea. It wasn't fair of me to do that to you, drunk or not, and I… would rather see you than have you continue to ignore me."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she tried to remain serious, "Are you saying that I'm right… and you missed me?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he chuckled, the tension in his face easing as he stepped toward her and took her hand in his. "I'd never miss you."

"Then I suppose I can ignore you for longer," she mused, smirking a little as he rolled his eyes. He then leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, which made her yank her hand away, "Tom! The door!"

"No one's around yet," he argued as he gathered his things up again. "I'll keep you and I private, but you can't stop me from kissing you when we get some alone time."

"Even if it could be taken from us at any moment?"

"Live a little, Minerva," he insisted. As he walked by, he gave her another kiss on the cheek, one that she didn't recoil from this time around, "Can I stop by your room today?"

She gave it some thought, and then shook her head, "No, I'm still cross with you."

There was a pause, "Really?"

"But if you can join me on prefect rounds tonight punctually," she carried on, shooting him a look over her shoulder, "perhaps we might find some more time alone."

Tom laughed again as a few students began to file in, and then departed.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**So this was written in one sitting, just under two hours. Just goes to show how much the muse LOVES ME when it comes to this story. I miss writing it… It's been far too long!**

**YEAAAAY FOR GUS MOMENTS. I had to include him somewhere, naturally. He's just too cute, and my longness for a pet kitty plays out pitifully in this story. I also think this relationship makes Minerva a tad more of a drama queen than usual. Than ever, really. However, I think when she finds herself in this sort of position, like most of us women, she's found just a liiiiittle bit of power over the man in that situation, and has no issues exploiting it to get her way. After all, she was rational enough; after an apology was given, it's done. **

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I absolutely adore reading them, and get SO excited whenever they come into my inbox!**

**OH. I've also changed the title song for the chapter titles… That was confusing. Anyway. **_**Warwick Avenue **_**by Duffy was my original inspiration, and I had planned that with each chapter I would use a line of the song, and when that was done, the story would be done. Well, I'm basically at the end of useable lyrics (i.e. no repeats), so I've changed songs. I'm now using **_**The Cave **_**by Mumford and Sons. I think it also suits Tom and Minerva perfectly, so BAM. New lyrics. **


	24. The sun, it rises slowly as you walk

Minerva felt like a lot of tension between her and Tom had been resolved when he admitted that he had been at fault for their last argument. Afterward, Minerva did feel a little guilty for putting him through all the trouble. She wasn't a dramatic person by nature, and when the ordeal was over with, she realized just how exhausting it was. If she could help it, she wanted to avoid any sort of situation in future where the two of them were at war for the right to say they were correct in some ridiculous matter. While it was upsetting that he had outed them on New Year's Eve to the rest of the staff, Pomona assured her repeatedly during the week following their reconciliation that most people had a suspicion anyway. She smiled politely at her friend's attempts to cheer her up, but she still wouldn't acknowledge any sort of relationship, privately or publically. That sort of thing was for her and Tom to know, and no one else deserved to be in their business. After all, she hardly ever meddled in anyone else's, unless Pomona dragged her into it, or the person was doing something _absolutely_ morally apprehensible.

Who wouldn't step in if something terrible was happening? Minerva prided herself in having a strong moral core, and that also meant the private lives of her colleagues and friends was just that – private. Pomona wasn't the only one to pry once the dust settled between her and Tom. Mercifully, Albus stayed silent on the issue, but Poppy and Hooch had somehow niggled their way into hushed conversations with her about Riddle. Although she wasn't rude, she thought she was cold enough to let them know the issue wasn't something she wanted to discuss.

However, Pomona did seem a little hurt that Minerva wouldn't open up to her fully, and the witch decided that she could let her Hufflepuff friend in on some things somewhere down the line, should this tryst amount to something. Until it was anything significant, Minerva kept her lips firmly shut, and she repeatedly insisted Tom do the same. He wasn't close with any other professor, aside from Slughorn, perhaps, but she implored him to keep his mouth shut all the same. Gossip spread like wildfire among the staff members, and considering there weren't many of them in the castle, it seemed all the more intimate an attack when one discovered their colleagues were chatting about their private life.

All that aside, the first week of school progressed smoothly. Minerva called off two of her lessons with Tom when she learned what he would be teaching; Moorish Pixies and Irish Banshees. Neither topic had interested her when she was in her fourth year, and she had no desire to sit in his classroom for a whole period and listen to a banshee shriek. Instead, she used her spares to get ahead on some marking and lesson planning for the last few months of school (as she was already planned up until March).

In the evenings, she joined the Gryffindor team out on the pitch. Roger had gone ahead and booked the evening timeslot for the entire week after their first altercation with the Slytherin team over the use of the pitch, and Minerva was pleased with the initiative. She had only been to two sessions, but it was fairly clear that none of the chasers had practiced over the holidays. They were sloppy and already out of shape, and it was clear to her that she was going to have to work hard to get them back to their performance before the holidays. Roger seemed equally displeased as he watched from across the pitch, and asked her to come down for the Friday evening practice. It was going to be a strictly physical session, in which he and Minerva would lead the entire team through drills.

To his credit, he had been very courteous and professional, though still friendly, since he returned from the holidays. It made for a far more pleasant working atmosphere, and because of it, Minerva agreed to participate in all the drills that evening. It would be nice to show a little team unity, even if she wasn't an official player. At this point, they all looked at her as a coach, and all of their relationships differed on the pitch and in the classroom, which was exactly what Minerva wanted. They shouted at her occasionally when an argument arose during training, and the banter between herself and all the players was actually quite fun. However, when they were in her classroom, they regarded her as the stern professor she desired to be. It was a balanced dichotomy between her pitch life and her work life, and Minerva couldn't have been happier with how it shaped up. She was fairly sure Tom's players didn't curse in front of him, or gossip about their friends, or even question a tactic. From what she had heard, they shut up and did as they were told, which wasn't really all that surprising. Although she didn't think she and her Quidditch comrades needed to be friends, she thought it better for team cohesion if they got along on a more personal level, something which made Tom scoff noisily into his tea.

Glancing at her wristwatch, she realized she had only ten minutes to finish her dinner and get to Tom's lecture. It was on something remarkably dull (and in the last timeslot of the day, which made it that much worse), so dull that she had forgotten, but she figured she could use the hour to listen _and_ mark a recent batch of first year quizzes they did the other day. It wasn't that Tom was a poor speaker, but she tended to find most of his lectures a little dull. He spoke softly, and now that she was used to his snide remarks about student performance, there wasn't anything new to face from her spot at the back. After all, she had been a student once before, and most of his material was so close to the syllabus that she could almost predict where he was going next. Of course, she had told Albus all of this, but he still seemed set on her monitoring the man until the end of the year.

So, with a sigh, she quickly finished her tea and dessert, wiped her mouth, and gathered her things from the head table. There were still a few students lingering in the Great Hall as she swept by, her books and Defence syllabus tucked under her arm. Most of them did not have class, but she did notice a few fourth years at the Hufflepuff table instinctively realize they were about to be late for Riddle's class, and moments later were racing out of the hall in front of her. She carried in, bringing up the 'No running in the halls' rule loudly to slow them down. The gaggle of students slowed to a brisk walk, and they made it to class about thirty seconds before she did, which was saying something.

The lecture was only an hour long, with Hufflepuff and Slytherin fourth years sharing the large classroom. There was a fairly clear divide between them, though she did spot a few pairs of girls sitting together. Although she tried not to buy into the house stereotypes, she was quite sure the Hufflepuff students were the ones to initiate any sort of contact. However, it wasn't her concern. A few greeted her as she walked along the outer aisle of seats, her usual chair ready for her at the back of the rows. They must have all been used to her by now, as she had been a constant presence for the better half of the year. With another sigh, she settled into the chair, syllabus on her lap and a quill in hand.

She had started making use of Tom's briefcase gift about a month ago, and while she didn't want him to know, she found it incredibly handy. There were divisions for all of her classes, and it was certainly easier to carry than her usual enormous stack of papers. She rummaged inside for a few moments, grabbing a blank piece of parchment and several of her old notes she had taken haphazardly in previous sessions. They were sporadic, and nothing too detailed, mostly because she felt like she was taking lecture notes, not making comments on Tom's ability to teach.

Moments later, Tom arrived in a flourish of robes, tossing a few books on his desk before he turned to face the class. Silence settled immediately, and after a quick glance at the clock, he flicked his wand at the door and it slammed shut noisily. Whatever titters that lingered stopped as he took a seat atop his desk, arms folded, head cocked to the side.

"I'd like to have a discussion today," he told them, his voice soft as always, "on the merit of using the Dark Arts in extraordinary circumstances."

Minerva cocked an eyebrow and returned to the syllabus. He had strayed, certainly, but she wasn't sure which lecture he had opted to replace it with. As she scanned the list, she realized this wasn't even on the syllabus. It was a dangerous subject to discuss, yes, but it would warrant for an interesting discussion. She frowned, her lips in a thin line, and straightened up in her chair to see where he was going with all this.

"Who can tell me the three curses that are deemed… unforgivable?"

A few hands shot up quickly, and he eventually settled on a brunette Slytherin boy near the front. The three curses were given, points were awarded, and still Minerva watched carefully. Tom smiled a little, "I want to hear your opinion… When would one of these curses be acceptable to use?"

No hands went up. A few students sitting nearby looked back at her, which seemed to irritate Riddle more than she expected. His face hardened, and Minerva nodded pointedly to the front. The students checking with her turned back to him, and finally a timid Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. Minerva shifted in her seat to get a better look at who it was; Anne Boylin, a mousy girl who seldom ever spoke in any of her classes. It was actually a little surprising to hear her speak, though she barely heard her from the back.

"I think if a loved one was in detrimental danger, I wouldn't hesitate to protect them," she squeaked. Tom studied her for a moment, his index finger stroking his chin.

"You would murder someone for the sake of a loved one?"

The girl's cheeks flushed brilliantly, and she seemed hesitant to speak again, "I wouldn't use that one. I'd use the Imperious to keep them away."

"I think you underestimate the ease of this specific curse," Tom commented, "but good observation, I suppose."

Minerva remained confused. She had no idea where he was taking this lesson, and was pleasantly surprised as the hour wore on. Tom discussed the merits of each curse, why they were illegal, and encouraged his pupils to discuss why certain elements of magic were considered "dark". The atmosphere was oddly relaxed, with no quills whirring across parchment or Slytherins competing for Tom's attention. Shockingly, students commented on one another's opinions, and offered some unique insights to Dark Magic, to the best of their current knowledge.

Still, she felt uncomfortable with the subject matter. This wasn't suitable for a fourth year class. Their young minds were too impressionable at this point, and many of them had no opinion other than that of their parents' when it came to anything outside of Hogwarts. They had no real knowledge about the Ministry and its running, nor had they actually investigated much into real dark magic. When the hour was up, she watched them leave in an excited rush, talking openly about topics that had been brought up in passing and that they surely didn't fully understand. Shaking her head, she made a few notes to summarize her thoughts on the lecture on her parchment, and then began packing up.

At this point, she wasn't sure if it was something she should bring up with Dumbledore. This would be the second time Tom discussed something inappropriate in class, and it wasn't over some insignificant issue. Before, it had seemed like a call to rebel against the Ministry, and this time it was over Dark Magic too advanced for his students to fully understand. Was this something to bring to Albus, or should she do a three strike deal? The debate raged on in her head as she strolled up the aisle between the desks, her folder tucked under her arm.

"You seem to have something on your mind."

She looked up abruptly, distracted from her thoughts by his voice. He seemed oddly neutral as he observed her from the front of the room, his arms folded across his chest.

"Tom," she started, taking a deep breath. "That lecture was highly inappropriate for fourth years. That was certainly the most interactive lesson I've seen… but you'll get in trouble for lectures like that."

"Why?" he asked with a frown. "Students should be allowed to openly discuss all aspects of magic, whether it's considered dangerous by society or not."

"It's considered dangerous for a good reason," she fired back, shaking her head at him with a hand planted on her hip. "This is the second time you've done this, and you should know it's something that is not acceptable."

"This is a class that teaches defense against the Dark Arts," he ground out forcefully, eyes narrowing. "How can I expect my students to battle darkness when they don't understand it at all?"

"You didn't teach them to understand it," Minerva argued. "You essentially made a lot of dangerous magic seem acceptable to a group of impressionable fourteen year olds!"

"They aren't all idiots, Minerva," he insisted. "None of them are going to go out there and try the spells we discussed on their housemates."

"No, but they see it as less dangerous than they ought to."

"Don't make assumptions," he snapped. "You have no proof of that… It's speculation at best."

She pursed her lips at him, and opened her mouth to argue that it wasn't speculation. Didn't he have any idea what teenagers were like? Fill their head with one thing and it's all they think about because you told them to! However, he cut her off sharply, pointing up at his hanging clock, "Aren't you late for a Quidditch practice?"

Shaking her head, she turned away from him and left the room, anger stewing. He had a point, unfortunately, and after she dropped her notes in her office, she hurried back to her room. Gus was quick to greet her as she stormed in, but soon left her be as she gathered up her Quidditch gear and changed in a stormy silence. The feline settled on the biggest pillow at the head of her bed, watching her with his big eyes as she changed out of her teaching robes into her usual Quidditch gear. She layered up, as night practices were positively atrocious in the winter months, and stuffed the gloves Wood had bought her for Christmas into the pockets of her jacket. From there she tossed her hair up into a ponytail, making a note that she would need a trim sometime in the near future, and then went about stuffing her feet into her training boots.

When she decided that it was finally time to drag herself down to the pitch, she did so with a grim expression on her face. Her mood had soured considerably when, once again, Tom refused to concede and at least acknowledge her argument, and now she had to endure everything that a January night had to offer her. As soon as she stepped outside the castle, her skin prickled angrily, and she decided to jog lightly down to the storage cupboard near the pitch where she housed her broom. It only helped a little, and when she arrived, it seemed everyone was equally unimpressed with the weather. The ground was coated in a dusting of snow, with a few patches of ice around the pitch. The sky was partially cloudy, which explained the fluttering snowflakes, but the wind was really awful.

"I know you're all exhausted," Roger said over the wind as he took his place next to Minerva in front of the team. "Trust me, I'd much rather be up in the Common Room in front of the fire with something hot to drink. However, we've got to make sure we practice every chance we get. Ravenclaw has the pitch for most of next week, which means we need to be conditioning on our own too. Tonight, Professor McGonagall and I will go over what you should be doing on your own next week until we have our next practice Saturday morning."

"You really pick the worst times for practice, Wood," someone moaned to the general agreement of the team. She smiled a little, recalling her own hatred of extremely early or late practices. It paid off in the end, but at the time it seemed like the absolute worst idea ever.

"Right, I know it's bad, but we just have to make due," Wood remarked gruffly. "We'll start with a jog around the pitch to get us warmed up, and then move into some drills. Mind the icy bits."

The team dissipated as people filtered toward the outside of the pitch, some already moaning about getting into practice in this weather. Minerva took her usual place at the back of the pack, keeping her pace slower than the slowest person. It usually made that individual feel like they still with the group if there was someone else behind them. To her surprise, Roger hung back with her. They jogged side by side in silence, snowflakes clustering in her ponytail. The jog was actually quite refreshing, and when it was over, Minerva felt more than ready to get into some drills.

While Roger handled the other parts of the team, Minerva took her Chasers into the air and began some passing and receiving drills. They were fairly standard, and by now the three female players were quite good at whatever she asked them to do. This time, she drags the exercises on a little longer than usual. She encourages them to move faster, work harder, fly sharper, and by the end of their two hours, the girls are exhausted. Minerva shares their exertion, and finally Roger calls it a night. She certainly hadn't had it as bad as the rest of the team. They were out practicing nightly, while Minerva had only come to three in total, including tonight. However, she felt exhausted, and agreed whole-heartedly with her Chaser girls that she wanted to do nothing more than snuggle into bed and go to sleep. It couldn't have been much later than nine, but already her eyes were heavy.

She and Roger offered to bring everyone's brooms back to the storage cupboard as he sent them on their way. It was a task she could have done alone, but she appreciated the company on the windy night.

"I really appreciate how much time you put in the team," Roger told her suddenly as they finished lining up all the brooms in their proper spot. "I mean, you don't have to… I know you have a lot of other things to do, so thank you."

She smiled at him, "It isn't a problem. I love the game… This isn't work for me, Wood."

"Well, good," he laughed as they hurried out of the freezing shed. Minerva flicked her wand over her shoulder to lock it, and then tucked her arms around her body as they moved steadily back toward the castle.

"You tutor, don't you?"

She glanced at him, her eyes a little watery from the wind, and nodded, "I do."

"I thought I might come for some extra help," he told her. "I mean, my pigeon was a really abysmal teapot."

A laugh escaped her lips at the memory, though she hadn't meant to. It was unprofessional to laugh at a student's misfortune. How easy it was to forget when they walked back toward the castle wearing nearly identical Quidditch jerseys.

"You are normally quite a good student," Minerva told him. "I don't understand why you struggled so much with the lesson."

He was good, not excellent, but certainly not slow enough to need any extra attention.

"I just want to finish the year strong," Roger replied with a shrug, holding the door to a side entrance open for her as they ducked inside. Immediately, the wind ceased. Her ears raged, no doubt horribly red and sore from the wind's bombardment.

"I think a little more time studying will get you the marks you desire," she insisted, "but I am always available in my free periods if you need any extra help."

"Thanks," he beamed, touching her arm lightly, "I'd really appreciate that. Have a good night."

She wanted to protest to the touch, but she knew it would have been a half-hearted chastisement at best. This week had been draining after some time off during the holidays, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Gus and sleep the night away.

Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for her that evening. As she unlocked her door and slipped into her chambers, she realized that something was off. Hurrying through the very short hallway that led up to her actual bedroom, she noticed that a soft glow emanated from the entrance, which was peculiar. Upon arrival, she found the source. Candles. Minerva frowned at them. There were enough to keep her room fairly well-lit, and she instinctively wondered where on earth Gus was amongst the mess. However, before her thoughts could linger for too long on Gus, they drifted back to Tom Riddle, who was currently reclining on her bed, her fiction novel in hand. He didn't even look up to acknowledge her.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, shrugging off her thick Quidditch outer layer and tossing it on a nearby chair. His eyes flickered up, and then returned to her book.

"I picked the lock."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped, eyes widening, "How dare you?"

"It was for your surprise," Tom told her, finally closing the book and setting it on her bedside table. "Don't you like it?"

"My surprise was… candles?" she worked out slowly, walking around her room to see if she was missing anything. Passing the bathroom, she poked her head in and noticed Gus was hiding behind the toilet again, the light reflecting off his large eyes dangerously.

"Your surprise is me, a romantic setting, and some nice wine to help relax you," he remarked, rolling off the bed and to his feet. His shoes were off, no cloak, and he seemed to have settled right in. Her eyebrows shot up, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment, "I thought…things seemed off with us again, so it would be better to curb that before it went too far."

"Off?" Minerva repeated, hands slowly finding their way to her hips, "You know why it would be off-"

"Yes, yes, inappropriate teaching and all that," Tom muttered, waving it off as he strolled over to her. "I thought we could forget about all that nonsense for a little bit… I don't think we've ever had any privacy, just the two of us."

She shifted a little when he reached out for the hem of her Quidditch jersey, which was cold and wet, much like her person.

"I don't know what you expect from this-"

"I don't expect anything," he told her softly, gripping her shirt and pulling it up over her head. To her surprise, she let him, extending her arms up to help rid herself of the garment. "I thought we could open a bottle of Elf Wine and simply relax… This week has felt unending."

"Hmm," she sighed in agreement, watching as he tossed her jersey aside. He then reached out and unbuttoned the top of her pants, a task that she also didn't resist. There were several layers beneath the outer Quidditch gear, so she had no problem shedding some of the wetter clothing. He continued to undress her until she was down to a pair of tight black leggings (excellent for keeping the wind out) and a black t-shirt. His hands were warm against her flesh, and her skin prickled beneath his touch.

"Cold outside?"

"Very," Minerva replied. She then let out a bit of an undignified squeal when he leaned down and hoisted her up, parting her legs so that she would have to wrap them around his waist. Her arms curled around his neck instinctively as he walked them back to her bed. Her cheeks flushed at the situation, and she immediately felt stiff as he sat down, laying back so that she was on top of him. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted the wine he had procured for them and went to work opening it. That took her off his lap and away from his penetrating eyes.

She poured them both a glass of wine each and then handed to him. By that point, Tom had moved into a seated position, his back resting against her pillows. He accepted the wine without another word, and then brought one arm to rest on her headboard. She took that as an invitation and once she had taken a few sips of the red liquid, which was quite delicious, she settled into the crook of his arm, her chilled body nestled into his. They sat in silence for some time, she sipping her drink and he fiddling with her hair with his spare hand. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to him, nor was she completely upset with his attempt at a surprise, but she was still so exhausted, physically and mentally, that she could feel her eyelids drifting closed as she drank more wine.

"Minerva," Tom called, nudging her a little when her weariness got the best of her. "Are you falling asleep?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered, rubbing her eyes a little as she set her empty wine glass on her bedside table. "I'm exhausted."

He grinned a little, and then set his empty glass beside hers. She wanted to apologize for being terrible company, but as she opened her mouth, he set about pulling the duvet cover up and over her. He then slipped beneath it with her and she resumed her position, curled up against his side. The head and comfort of her bed soon took over, pushing the logical part of her brain aside. That logic argued he shouldn't be here. She ought to still be cross with him. He broke into her room. He picked the lock! Who knows what else he did while he was in here!

However, as he massaged her scalp, her hair now loose against his fingers, her body instantly relaxed, and she fell into a deep slumber right then and there.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I tend to write MASSIVE paragraphs, and after plodding through the **_**Lord of the Rings**_** trilogy recently for a class, I have decided they suck. So I tried to break things up a little more… mostly for the ease of reading. I find it tiring to read on the computer, so thank you, my darlings, for doing it! The least I could do is make the paragraphs a little easier to trek through. **

**I like the differences between Tom and Minerva's Quidditch leadership styles – I think it foreshadows nicely for their future. I know it was only briefly mentioned, but it seems fitting. Anywaaayy. **

**Writing physical intimacy is actually fun with Tom. I think the degrees of it vary depending on how much control he has over a situation. Currently, he would sense weakness in Minerva just because she's tired and cranky, and if he's got it handled, there's no need to take things too far. While he is charming and manipulative, at this point I don't think he's going to go out of his way to force some sort of action in there. Especially when the girl he's wheeling is Minerva. I mean. No. Realism, for a bit. **

**Like Minerva, I'm exhausted. My eyes are barely open, and my fingers seem to have a mind of their own. HURRAH. But I wanted to finish this one before I went to bed tonight. Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies! **


	25. Away from all the fears

Voldemort woke with a start when he felt Minerva bolt out of her bed, knocking him a little in the process. He kept his eyes closed as she rustled about, and then the lavatory door slammed shut. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and sat up a little, squinting at the small clock on the nightstand across from him. It was only nine in the morning… on a Saturday. Was she insane? He was all for rising at a reasonable hour, but on the weekends he usually liked to sleep in until at least ten or eleven. Mind you, he had been up about an hour ago to use the facilities. Her bloody cat was still skulking around behind the toilet when he stumbled in groggily. The creature hissed at him and bolted out of the room. From what he assumed, the thing was now hiding under the bed after his initial hiding spot had been spoiled. Stupid creature. After relieving himself, Voldemort crawled back into bed sometime around seven, wrapping an arm around Minerva's thin waist. The woman hadn't even stirred at the movement; apparently she slept heavy. However, when she woke, she woke with such a start that it roused Tom quickly from his sleep.

While she might have felt embarrassed for the previous night's behaviour, Voldemort was perfectly happy with it. Everything had gone exactly as he wished. Actually, things had gone better than he had predicted going into the night. Although most wizards couldn't see the point in knowing how to pick a lock, he had learned that skill when he was only a child. He found it quite beneficial whenever he wanted something out of the locked rooms in the basement of his old orphanage, which were usually filled with cookies and other delicious sweets that the children were deprived of. His lock-picking skills became a little slack when he started to develop his magic, but he brought them back up to standard after he graduated from Hogwarts and away from Dumbledore's prying eyes. Whenever something was robbed, authorities tried to detect the most recent spell used in the area: no one ever thought to check the condition of the lock, which he usually left damaged. Naturally, he was a little more careful with Minerva's, but he left it in a state that would be easy to pick should he ever need to in the future.

When he arrived last night, her place was immaculate; that was to be expected. Everything was in order, just as he had remembered, except for the file folder he bought her for her birthday. That was strewn across her bed, no doubt forgotten on her way to Quidditch practice. As her bloody cat scampered into the bathroom, where he would remain for the whole duration of Minerva's absence, Voldemort settled onto her bed and went through her notes unceremoniously. Half of the papers had to do with her own lessons, which he didn't bother with, but when he stumbled upon the section where she kept her notes on his lectures, he paused. Most of them were only hastily scribbled pointless notes about him staying on schedule until he reached that day's section. She was very diligent in recording all the spells they discussed, and all his reasons for possibly using Dark Magic in an everyday setting. He knew the lecture would get him into trouble, but he had to find some students who were open to the idea in a more relaxed setting. Over the years, he learned that some of his best followers were those that had a free and easy opinion on using all sorts of magic, whether society deemed it unacceptable or not.

Surprisingly enough, it was a meek, small Hufflepuff girl that was willing to go the furthest with the darkness to save the people she loved. It was a different angle, but it was certainly something he could work with in the future. It was always good to know the perceptions of the youth. With each upcoming generation, the attitudes changed, and if he wanted to recruit for the next decade or so, Voldemort was fully aware that he needed to appeal to those most impressionable. However, Minerva seemed to become highly objectionable as the lecture went on, evidenced by her hasty notes and the progressively thinning line her lips became during the class.

Thank Merlin she had Quidditch to go to, otherwise he would have found himself in trouble again with her after he had already sorted them out. No, he couldn't have that. He also couldn't have her keeping her notes on file. So, as he sorted through her belongings, he took the second page of notes from that 'dangerous' lecture and set it on fire. He kept the first one in there, so suspicion wouldn't come up immediately if she quickly skimmed through it. However, page two had the juiciest details of his discussion, and that was the one that vanished without a trace. The cat seemed particularly upset with the fire in his territory, and Voldemort was fairly sure he heard a hiss from the bathroom as the paper went up in flames.

From there, he left, locked the room up, and set about on his initial plan to make up for the potential distress he may have caused her earlier in the day. Although Quidditch would be a fine distraction, as the woman seemed to have quite the affinity for it, he knew she would start to stew at some point that night over his classroom transgressions. So, he grabbed a bottle of wine from his office, one he had intended to drink on New Years, and scrounged up a few candles to set some sort of 'mood'. From there, he returned to her room and set to work, decorating it like any woman would fantasize about. However, when he had finished, he realized he had only killed about a half hour, and he was sure Quidditch wouldn't be done for another hour at best. So, to kill some time, he grabbed the paperback off her desk and sprawled across her bed, which had far too many pillows to his liking, and set about reading some slightly trashy fiction novel regarding the Goblin Wars.

When Minerva finally returned to her room, soaking wet and freezing, Voldemort realized tonight would go better than expected. While she was highly suspicious of him at first, he could tell she was so exhausted, not only by the look in her eye but by the way that she walked, that he had a chance to have the upper hand all night. After relieving her of her sodden clothing, which was more fun than he had anticipated, they crawled into bed and she practically fell asleep in her wine. This meant no talking, no arguing, no forced apologies… All he had to do was let her sleep, and in the morning everything would be forgotten.

However, as he stared at the closed bathroom door, lips pursed, he wondered if he might have overestimated just how much a good night's sleep would do for the woman. There was a great deal of splashing about, a toilet flush, and some sort of rummaging somewhere. He hadn't taken Minerva for a vain woman, but perhaps everyone felt a little bit uncomfortable waking up next to someone new. Running a hand through his hair, Voldemort assumed he looked the same as always; it certainly wasn't a concern, anyway.

Sighing, he snuggled back into her pillows, pushing a thicker one out of the way unceremoniously, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he pretended to still be asleep, he could get another hour or so in before he had to wake up. Unfortunately, that seemed unlikely when he heard the door open once again and a bit of a huff come from across the room. He braced himself, eyes still shut, hoping she would think he had gone back to sleep.

"You stayed the night."

But alas, all hopes were dashed. Sighing, he shifting up onto his elbow and looked at her, deciding she didn't seem as unimpressed with him as he had expected. Clearing his throat, he raised his eyebrows at her, "I did."

"Why?"

"Because believe it or not," he started, sitting up a little more into a comfortable position, "I was tired too. I can't believe how much teaching takes out of me… Normally after duelling is finished on Friday nights I go straight to bed."

"Well, why didn't you?" she asked, arms folded across her chest. His eyes narrowed a little, irritated with her tone, but he tried his best to brush it off.

"Are you cross I stayed over, or is it something else?" he inquired, trying very hard to keep his tone even. "I was nothing but respectful last night, so unless you're upset I saw you without make-up on, I think you should just come back to bed and sleep for another hour."

He watched her lips purse together, thinning into that little line that usually appeared whenever she was immensely displeased with him. Much to his surprise, however, she stalked across the room and slipped back under the covers. She didn't quite settle down. Instead, she sat straight-backed against her headboard, arms folded across her chest still.

"It was too soon for you to stay over," she told him just after he shut his eyes again.

"Can't seem to do anything right, can I?" he mused grumpily.

"No, it was my fault too," Minerva said suddenly, which made him glance up at her, a little skeptical that she would take some share of the blame. "After all, I could have easily told you to leave. I was tired, not unconscious."

He blinked a few times, forcing the sleep away for good, and then rolled onto his side to observe you. She was remarkably level-headed about so many things.

"You continue to surprise me, Minerva," he informed her. It was high praised, indeed, though he was sure she wouldn't understand why. Voldemort did not give it often.

"Why?"

"I suppose I expect every conversation about conflict to turn into a fight where I am immediately the villain," he said, reaching out and curving an arm around her slim waist. When she didn't object, he nestled a little closer, knowing that with each moment, he was closer to a victory. Suddenly, there was a hand in his hair, and he smirked against her. There it was. Success.

"I have always been known as strict, but fair," she said quietly. "I suppose it's only reasonable that you should expect that in our…"

She trailed off, though she continued to massage his scalp. Was she unwilling to say what they were becoming? Her discomfort was delicious. He wanted to drink in it.

"Our relationship?" he finished, holding back his smile when her body stiffened.

"I… suppose, yes, that's what we should call him."

He wanted to burst out laughing, but somehow he restrained himself. Instead, he cracked a sarcastic quip, "Well, seeing as we've spent the night together-"

"Tom," she hissed, giving his neck a sharp pinch. "Don't go around telling anyone! I don't want people to get the wrong idea."

"About us?"

"About me," she said firmly. "I'm not that type of-"

"Oh please, Minerva," he groaned, glancing up at her as he prodded her to keep massaging his head. "I don't think anyone will ever, _ever_ think you're that kind of woman. Bossy, sharp, abrupt… Yes, they will think that, but never _that_ type of woman."

"You always seem to have something to say, don't you?"

"The same can be said for you," he muttered, stretching leisurely as he relaxed in her capable hands. "But let me ask… If something had happened last night, would you have been upset with me?"

"Of course," she said quickly. "You know where I stand regarding…that."

"Sex?"

"_Yes_, Tom," she snapped, making him chuckle.

Most men would have been highly disappointed to have been rebuffed sexually. For Voldemort, it had never been an issue, as he so rarely sought it that to be denied was of little importance to him. It took him quite some time to understand why anyone would want to be so close to another person like that. Yes, it was pleasurable, but there were far too many other complicated emotions that went along with it, almost to the point where the pleasure was overlooked. However, with Minerva, he knew that the physical act itself would be enough to break her hold over his life completely. It wasn't going to be awful, but it was going to take some seriously hard work to get them to that stage, and sooner rather than later. If she trusted him implicitly enough in an act that she couldn't even say out loud, he was in the clear for anything and everything he wished to do at Hogwarts.

"Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"I think we should talk about yesterday."

"Didn't we already?" he mumbled. Suddenly, the massaging stopped, and he felt her shift a little.

"No, I mean your lecture," Minerva started. "I think it's really important that you understand why I'm singling it out."

"I fully understand," he argued as he sat up. "It wasn't in the syllabus and it was technically inappropriate for the age group-"

"Technically?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing," he told her. "Magic isn't good and evil… There are so many intricacies that these students don't become aware of until much later in their studies. I think they should know it sooner."

"An interesting theory, but it isn't your decision," she explained, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. "There are a number of things I want to teach in my classes, and countless more that could lean on the darker side of magic that I would deem… useful. However, we do not decide what we teach. We are given strict criteria, and you _know_ we have to follow it."

"Don't you believe in bending the rules a little?" he cooed, cupping her chin and attempting to flash a charming smile. When she didn't melt under his touch, he retracted, his gaze hardening a little, "I suppose I should have known the answer to that."

She smirked a little, "Yes, you should have."

"All right, all right, I'm not awake enough yet for this conversation," he grumbled, taking his small defeat in stride (considering his earlier victories, and all), and then sat up. "Why don't I fetch us some tea and breakfast and we can discuss the merits of rule-breaking."

"I don't think it'll be much of a discussion."

"Humour me," he insisted, leaning forward and giving her a hard peck on the cheek. "Maybe it will be enlightening."

She laughed a little as he rolled out of bed and slipped into his shoes. Before he got something to eat, he might pop down to his own room and change into something different… It always felt a little off wearing the same clothes two days in a row.

"Do you want me to grab you the usual?"

Eggs, side of brown toast and jam, fruit cup.

"Yes, please."

"I'll be back in a half an hour or so," he told her as he started toward the door. "You might want to console your cat… I think I gave him a bit of a fright this morning."

"Are you sure you're going to be able to carry everything back?"

"I am a wizard, am I not?" he laughed coldly , not bothering to turn back and face her. What a ridiculous question. He didn't hear her response, and wasn't even sure if she gave one. Instead, he shut the door loudly behind him, and gave another stretch. He hadn't actually slept with someone for an entire night in such a long time… He forgot how stiff he always felt afterward.

The halls were empty that morning, and almost unbearably cold. It seemed that the temperature in this place got worse and worse as the winter wore on, and only let up once spring hit. As he recalled from his school days, it was awful to wake up on a winter morning in the Slytherin dormitories had one of your dorm mates not kept the fire going from the night before. No one wanted to start the day by feeling like hypothermia had set in in their appendages.

"Did you spend the night with her?"

He came to a sudden halt, his heart leaping from his chest when a voice came out of nowhere. He whipped around, livid as he stared down at Evelyn Cross. Her eyes seemed red, though she did not appear to have slept in the same clothes she had been wearing the day before, which had to mean she hadn't been camped outside the room all night.

"What did you just say?" he hissed, eyes narrowing at her.

"You heard me."

His lip twitched, fingers inching toward his wand, but he managed to keep his composure, "You have no business asking that question."

"I feel like I do-"

"Then you are gravely mistaken," he snapped, the urge to shout at her almost more overpowering than anything he had felt that morning.

"I saw you go in last night… and then I saw her-"

"If you continue to snoop around a professor's personal chambers, I will have to bring it to the attention of the headmaster."

Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly she planted her hands on her hips, taking a daring step forward, "Then I feel I might have to bring the subject of our late night discussions to his attention too."

Blind fury. Rage. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not grab her head and slam it into the nearby wall. Instead, he glared at her, hands shaking. How dare she threaten him?

"I think we might have an understanding," she murmured with a shrug. "I feel like we haven't had a real lesson in a while… Perhaps if you were spending less time with Professor McGonagall and more time with me, I wouldn't feel so out of practice."

He stood before her, saying nothing; for if he opened his mouth, the killing curse may have slipped out before he would care to stop it.

"Why don't we meet up tonight?" she suggested, her tone a little lighter now. "In your office… Let's say at eight. Sound good?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She gave a grin, one that in any other circumstance he would have been proud of, and then marched off with a confident stride in her step. He stood rooted in his spot for quite some time, raging over what had just transgressed. This could not stand. It would not stand.

A thought occurred to him, and he suddenly smiled a very horrible, awful smile.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I apologize for the delay! I was in midterm season for the spring, and it sucked majorly. Exams went all right (minus one stupid one which I continue to stew over), and I feel like I was only writing my Christmas ones last week. Ugh, depressing. So, writing got put on hold for all fronts, but now I have a week off and I'm going to try to catch up on everything. No promises, mind you. Whenever I promise to update more, I tend to get super lazy and not do anything. SO. I'm just going to try my best!**

**Oh, Evelyn. Green isn't a very becoming colour, even when it has to do with Tom. Definitely the wrong move. I also tried to keep Voldie and Minerva cute, but to a point. I don't think either of them are really the lovey-dovey WON-WON types.**


	26. And all the faults you've left behind

Minerva wasn't exactly sure why Hogwarts continued to hold Quidditch games in the dead of winter. Even in her days at school, she loathed layering up and dragging herself down with the rest of the Gryffindor team to partake in a match. Naturally, everyone warmed up as the game went on, and by the end they were all sweating as much as they normally would in a regular match during the autumn season. However, now that she wasn't playing, it was extra frustrating to leave the warmth of the castle. Of course, she wanted to see Gryffindor play every match she could. Roger and the team had been training so hard over the last two weeks to get ready for their game against Ravenclaw, and the school was abuzz with excitement the day before. The two teams were almost evenly matched, and they were competing for the spot to play Slytherin in the following game. Wood had had the team training almost every night since they returned from their Christmas holiday, and Minerva had gone to just over half of the practices when she had the time. The team was improving tremendously, and she had high hopes for them during this match. Now, if only it wasn't so bloody cold.

Big, fat flake fluttered down from the sky, and Minerva grumbled under her breath about the absurdities of having matches in the winter. She and Pomona had two kettles each, as they had offered to bring the warm drinks for the staff stand. It might have been a bit of an incentive to get the professors out of the drafty, yet warm, castle and into the horrendous weather, and Minerva hoped it had worked. She would have been very put out if only she, Pomona, and Albus made an appearance for the match.

As they marched toward the pitch, snow up to their ankles, Minerva was quite pleased to see that there were a great deal of students braving the elements to see the team play. That was one of the things she loved about Quidditch; it brought everyone together in a wonderful show of camaraderie, even if they were jeering the opposing team for a little while. She smiled as a group of girls bid the two professors a friendly greeting, and watched as they scurried on ahead, huddling together for warmth. Normally, many preferred to be in the front row, or on the outer wings of the stands to avoid the jostling that Quidditch was known to produce. However, in the chilly air, she was sure most were fighting for a spot in the middle to enjoy the heat of their surrounding housemates. Minerva, for one, planned to nestle between Pomona, and preferably Dumbledore, in order to fend off some of the cold.

Tom told her he would try to make it to the game, but he couldn't give her any promises. He had made the fatal mistake recently of making a great deal of assignments due for that previous week, which meant he was now compelled to spend the next two weeks grading mountains of papers and quizzes. She offered to help with some of the lower year tests and things, mostly because she was sure it had a simply answer key that would allow her to fly through them, but that would only make a dent in the work he had ahead of him. He was happy to have her help, but he seemed to be in a particularly foul mood at the thought of spending all his free time for the next two weeks – at least – correcting essays. Well, live and learn. Minerva learned the hard way to space out her assignments last year, otherwise, like Tom, one is cooped up in a sea of poorly written papers for weeks.

Things felt very stable between the pair, which was a huge relief after her small outburst at him staying the night. She had woken up that morning feeling embarrassed that he had stayed. It was seldom that Minerva McGonagall had a vain moment, but as she felt crusted drool on her cheek and her hair a rats nest, she really wished he hadn't been there. After that was fixed, the reality of him staying the night, and the implications that went with it, hit her, and she expressed a desire for them to slow things down. Naturally, Tom seemed a little irked at the notion, and instead promised to not spend the night with her until she was ready for it, by accident or not. That was satisfactory enough, and they fell into an easy routine in the following two weeks. They usually ate lunch together, but spent breakfast and dinner with other members of the staff team. He was always pleased to have her monitoring his classes now, and much to her own pleasure, he hadn't veered off-topic again as of yet. On the week that they did not have prefect rounds together, they were usually in her office doing work, or chatting, or… enjoying one another's company. Her cheeks tinted at the thought. However, it felt like a normal, natural relationship between two adults, and much to her surprise, she couldn't have been happier. He was respectful in public, and a more than adequate companion in private.

It was unexpected, to say the least. She had finally let Pomona in on the 'secret' of her relationship with Tom. Even though the little woman was obviously aware of it before, Minerva still appreciated how surprised and excited Pomona acted when she broke the news. It was nice to be able to talk to someone about it without feeling as though she would be judged. Pomona was _always_ willing to make her new relationship the topic of conversation whenever they were alone. It felt strange discussing something like that with someone, but if she could do it with anyone, Minerva was happy it was her.

"You don't think we should have brought more, do you?" Pomona asked as they approached the entrance to the staff stands at the pitch, holding up her two jugs of piping hot tea, "What if we run out?"

"I think you're overestimating our colleagues' willingness to sit in a snowstorm for Quidditch," Minerva chuckled, clutching the coffee kettles close to her as she opened the flimsy wooden door to the stands, nodding inside for Pomona to carry on. "Besides, there aren't any toilets out here… Never want too much to drink, do we?"

"I suppose not," the woman mused as they carried on up the seemingly endless wooden stairwell. Minerva always felt constricted in here, mostly because she spent her youth out on the actual pitch, not in the audience. The staircase was rickety, narrow, and one could see clear down to the bottom level if they stopped to look. That in itself was enough to throw her off as they climbed.

"Ah," she heard Pomona exclaimed, giggling a little. "It seems you've underestimated our school spirit, Minerva!"

She stumbled up the last step a little, and Pomona caught her before she actually fell. When she looked up, her eyes widened when she spotted the entire staff team, support staff included, bundled up together in the small viewing stand. It seemed everyone had turned up, or had been forced to do so, and she smiled warmly at the ground. They were all dressed in a similar fashion: hats, scarves, mittens, and absurdly thick cloaks. Tom caught her eye in the front row, and she noticed an empty seat beside him at the end of the bench. He smirked a little, a gesture she only vaguely returned, and she carried on surveying the crowd. As usual, Dumbledore sat at the top of the stand, sharing his bench with Hagrid (who took up most of it on his own) and Slughorn. There was a seat between them, but she saw Pomona quickly scuttling up to take her spot next to Slughorn, which meant that only available seat left was the one beside Tom.

Well, no one could suspect anything… There was absolutely nowhere else left to sit. Pomona held up a bright red sac and shook it slightly, "Who wants something warm to drink? I've got tea and Minerva has the coffee!"

There was a sudden commotion of people demanding either tea or coffee, and as Pomona passed around the sac, which contained little mugs, Minerva set to work on giving people the coffee jugs to pass around. She leaned over Tom a touch to pass the one jug up to Vector, and her cheeks coloured a little when she felt a hand on her leg. She glared down at him, but he simply smiled sweetly in return, beckoning for her to sit.

"Quite a turn out," he commented as she settled onto the end of the bench, her body pressed up against him so that she wouldn't fall off. "I didn't expect this many of us were avid Quidditch fans."

"Hmm," Minerva agreed, watching as he readjusted his leather gloves nonchalantly. "Thank you for saving me a seat."

"I wouldn't want to sit next to anyone else," he muttered, shooting her a bit of a wink. Poppy sat to his right, and when offered the coffee pot, he politely declined in favour of some tea. Minerva ended up with the sac of mugs and retrieved two. Just then, Tom found one of the tea kettles and began filling the two cups with steaming liquid. Once finished, she handed them both to him, and then stood up, looking around at all of her colleagues.

"Does everyone have a mug?" she asked loudly, holding up the sac. There were still a few left inside, but it seemed everyone had settled in with their drinks at this point. She noticed Pomona was busy handing out sugar packets and little milk cartons. Where she had produced those was beyond her, but Minerva assumed they had been stuffed in her coat pocket at some point. Satisfied that everyone was taken care of, Minerva accepted two sugar packets from Poppy and settled back into her seat, adding one to each of their drinks.

"You look pretty today," Tom commented when she took her drink back, and she shot him a look.

"Shush."

He grinned a little and then settled into the bench as best he could, stretching his feet out in front of him as he tried to get comfortable. They really did need to upgrade the crowd stands at some point. Even though she was sitting in an exceptionally thick cloak, it was still fairly uncomfortable to sit and lean back on solid wood for the duration of a typical match. Minerva took a sip of her tea and sighed, scanning the other stands to gauge the size of the crowd. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw stands were completely full, as was the Hufflepuff one, though the Slytherin turnout was about half of the other houses. No surprise there.

She straightened up a little as the match commenced, smiling happily as Roger led his team on a circle around the pitch. Hooch was down there too, and she watched her fellow professor direct the teams into the starting formation. If Hooch hadn't been refereeing Quidditch matches, Minerva might have thrown her hat in to do it. Mind you, that would mean she would have to stop coaching the Gryffindor team, and all sorts of her favouritism toward her old house would also have to vanish. Maybe it was best that she didn't play a neutral position on the field; she wouldn't be very good at it. She cheered politely for both teams as the announcer ran through the list of players, and within minutes, the whistle sounded, and the game was afoot. She resisted the urge to shout directions to her Chasers, who were doing a good job at taking the Quaffle early.

"I was thinking," Tom said in her ear, "that we could go out sometime."

"Sorry?" she replied absently, her eyes darting around as she followed the progression of the female Gryffindor Chasers. Four neat passes and they had already scored. Excellent. She tried very hard not to look too impressed, and kept her features as forcibly neutral as possible when the Gryffindor team did a lap to celebrate the goal.

"Go out, you know, away from Hogwarts," he clarified. She felt his arm nestle around her suddenly, and with a glance to her left she saw he had placed it behind her on the bench. When she looked back at him, it was fairly obvious he wasn't interested in the match at all.

"Watch the game, Tom."

"Oh, stop panicking," he grumbled, taking a sip of his tea. "No one is paying attention to us."

"Doesn't mean you can get extra close," she murmured, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "Stop."

"But I'm cold," he protested. Cheers erupted around the stands as Ravenclaw scored, and she saw Flitwick nudge Hagrid happily as she looked around the stand. Perhaps they were betting? It wouldn't be the first time. Tom groaned softly, which brought her attention back to him, and he frowned at her, "This is what I'm talking about."

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about," she told him honestly, "but can it wait until after the match?"

"Why?" he grumbled, "Are you upset people will see us talking?"

"No," she ground out, glaring at a nearby Ravenclaw Beater as he flung a bludger toward one of her girls, "but I _am_ actually trying to watch the game."

"I'm sure you're capable of multi-tasking-"

"Tom," she snapped, shooting him a very pointed look, "you're being a pest. Stop it."

She saw his jaw clench, and he turned back to the match without another word. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head as she tried to immerse herself back into the game. However, her scolding didn't seem to silence him for long, and soon he was back in her ear.

"I want to two of us to go out to a place where we don't have to do this."

"Do what, argue?" she hissed, lips barely moving. Why was he being such a nuisance? Couldn't he see she was enjoying herself?

"Pretend like we aren't together."

"Oh, Tom, stop beating a dead horse with the public displays issue," she whispered heatedly. "We agreed to it, and it's been working out just fine."

"Except for the fact I can't put my arm around you here without setting off your temper," he countered, his eyes now fixated on Roger on the pitch, who seemed to be hovering nearby during a penalty shot for Gryffindor. When had that happened? What had happened?

"Tom, this really isn't the place to discuss it-"

"I _know_, Minerva," he growled. "I only wanted to ask you out to a dinner date next weekend in Hogsmeade… You turned it into some big production."

"I did not," she snapped, but finally decided it was best to just let it go. She wasn't about to waste a perfectly good game on a fight with Tom, even if it meant a possible reason to leave the horrible weather. She pursed her lips, and then sighed, "Fine, fine, it's done. We'll do dinner."

"That's all I wanted."

Smug bastard sounded so triumphant. She rolled her eyes again, "Unlikely, but I'll take your word for it."

"Don't sound so pouty, it'll be fun," Tom promised. "Oh, look, Gryffindor's ahead."

"Don't pretend like you're suddenly interested in the match," she laughed, the tension in her body easing a little. She took another sip of her tea, and frowned when she realized it was already starting to cool down. At this point, no one would be keen on passing her the kettle, so she set her mug down, clapping politely as Ravenclaw scored another goal, tying up to two scores.

The game was actually an exceptionally good match. Just as she had predicted, the two teams were fairly even in terms of technique and skill, which made it all the more exciting to be a part of the crowd. It lasted for the better part of an hour, until finally the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the Snitch, effectively ending the game with a whopping amount of points for their team. She could sense the disappointment in Wood and his teammates as they left the pitch, but she was sure this only meant they would be training harder the second they could get the field booked.

As the student stands started to filter out, Minerva rose to her feet, only to be nudged toward the staircase by Tom rather quickly.

"What's the rush?" she demanded as they made their way down.

"Apparently you've never been behind Dumbledore and Horace on the staircase," he mused, a hand on her back as they hurried down. "We'd be stuck in there for hours."

She laughed, but secretly decided she never wanted to be stuck behind the two older men in a staircase that made her feel claustrophobic. She smirked, "Point taken."

"Come on, you," he chuckled, linking her arm in his as they strolled back to the castle, "and before you say anything, I've seen you do this with Dumbledore _and_ Hagrid in public. We'll pretend like it's the same thing."

"Well, there is no romantic hope for me with either of them, mind you," she countered, glancing around as herds of students hurried by to get back to the castle. No one seemed to be paying them much attention, and if that would be the general pattern for the walk, she was fine with the linked arms.

"So, what are your plans for this fine Saturday?" he asked, their pace slow as they strolled through the main courtyard of the castle. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Aside from marking your first year quizzes?"

"Hmm, yes, aside from that," he mused. She shrugged, tucking her chin into her scarf a particularly cold gust of wind swept through the courtyard.

"I suspect I'll be spending it with you, actually."

"Exactly what I was thinking," he told her, his eyes widening. "My god, we were made for each other."

"You're impossible," she chuckled weakly, shaking her head at him as he grabbed one of the smaller main doors to the castle and ushered her in. Well, there was never a dull moment with him, which was a good and bad thing. After all, he had gone from being an annoyance at the Quidditch match to being a little bit of a tease. All good natured, of course, and she knew that even if all she did for the rest of the day was work on her own assignments or help mark his, she was bound to have a fairly enjoyable evening.

Now that she was out of the cold, she felt like her outfit was stifling her, and hastily began removing some outer layers as they made their way deeper into the castle. The corridors were abuzz with students, and she congratulated all the Ravenclaws she saw in the hallway warmly. They were certainly going to have a fun night celebrating, and she wondered if any might be caught out of bed with a little bit of liquor on their breath.

"Professor Riddle!"

Both came a halt, and when Minerva turned back, she spotted Evelyn Cross hurrying after them, weaving her way through the crowd of students. One look at Tom and Minerva sensed he wasn't exactly welcome to the interruption. However, she knew Evelyn was something of a teacher's pet when it came to Tom. She had seen the two together quite often as of late, and when she asked, he told her he was giving her tips on how to become a better dueller. Naturally, that was cheating for his little club, but he assured her Evelyn no longer competed, as her skill level was too far above the other combatants.

"Hello Evelyn," Minerva greeted when the blonde Slytherin finally approached. The girl smiled up at her.

"How was the match?" she asked, her eyes dancing with curious excitement, "I would have gone, but I've made such headway on one of Professor Riddle's assignments… I've practically lived in the library since last night."

"I'm sure Madame Prince appreciates your dedication," Minerva mused. Evelyn nodded, but Minerva could see her eyeing Tom eagerly, and this polite conversation was more of a necessity than a want. However, Tom seemed less than impressed with her presence, and had something of a stern look on his face as he regarded the seventh year.

"Is there something I can do for you, Miss Cross?" he inquired tightly.

"I was wondering if you could have a look at what I've done so far?" the girl inquired, holding up several sheets of parchment, the writing miniscule. "I think it's some of my best work yet."

"If you don't say so yourself," Tom droned, his eyebrows shooting up. "Perhaps another time."

"Oh, but it's due Monday," the girl countered as he started to turn away, "and I wouldn't dream of bothering you on a Sunday. Please? You did offer to give your opinion last class to anyone who wanted it…"

Another rookie mistake. Minerva remembered shaking her head when Tom offered to give students a bit of a proofread before they handed anything in, but she suspected he did it to avoid getting the garbage he had from a previous assignment.

"I'm very busy, Miss Cross-"

"I won't take long!"

Minerva was tempted to step in. She hadn't seen a student pester a professor like this in such a long time, and she wondered why he hadn't curtly dismissed her, even if she was his favourite.

"Why don't I meet you in the staff room?" Minerva offered, giving herself an out so that they could settle it amongst one another.

"Fine," he remarked, his tone slightly unreadable. She gave Evelyn a brief smile before turning away, tucking her mittens into the pockets of her cloak as she swept off down the hall. Her feet soon found their way to her room, and she slid her key into the lock and turned it sharply, stepping inside before anyone saw where she vanished to. Most professors had rooms in low traffic hallways, generally to avoid a student following them and bothering them in their private space.

She shut the door lightly behind her, not wanting to startle Gus by slamming it, and then felt her foot slip on something. Frowning, she bent down in the darkness and picked up a very bright white sheet of paper. Had she dropped it sometime and not realized it? Shrugging, she carried on through her small corridor and stepped into her room, pleased at how warm it was. At this time of year, it made sense to leave her small fireplace going, though Gus had developed an unhealthy obsession with it when the flames were big. Normally she extinguished it to keep him from playing with them while she was gone, but this morning he barely moved off her pillow as she got dressed, and she assumed it was one of his lazy days. As predicted, he was still in the same spot, and only just lifted his head to acknowledge her before he went back to sleep.

Shaking her head, she set the slip of paper down on her desk and began shedding layers, tossing them on her bed until she was down to something a little more acceptable for the current temperature. Sighing, she grabbed the paper off the table and decided to give it a quick read before finding its proper place amongst her many folders. Deep down, she hoped it wasn't a student's assignment; she'd never lost one before, and the thought of potentially losing one now was a little unnerving.

However, when she opened the folded sheet, her face blanched. This most certainly was not a student's assignment.

_Whore_.

It said 'whore' in dark black ink in the center of the page. She blinked a few times. There was no mistaking it. The letters were crisp and clear, capitalized as though someone was shouting it at her. She swallowed thickly, her heart racing, and then tossed it into her fire. For some time she watched the small flames engulf the paper, until finally there was nothing left but ashes.

She didn't think she ought to see Tom tonight. No, not tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I know 'whore' isn't a big word for us today… Hell, my roommate called me one when I ate the last brownie today. HOWEVER. I think it's a big deal word for someone in the 1950s, **_**especially**_** for someone like Minerva. I think it's fairly insulting, and she just needs to get her head together. Yup. **

**Also, for some reason I LOLed… in my head… when Minerva called Tom a pest. I just pictured him being such a petulant little boy, glaring back out at the pitch seething. Ahhh, young love. **

**So I apologize for the slow updates… again. If you are ever wondering wtf happened to me, I implore you to check my profile. I do update what's happening in my world there, and I'm making more of an effort to let people know why I'm not updating. This time, it's work. My new job slammed my with 9 hour shifts every day next week while I try to be a full-time student. Lame. So I wanted to update this before I plunged into retail. Guhh. **

**Also, I was on a weird little block with this story. HOWEVER, I'm back into it, and this one flowed like nobody's business. So the muse is back. And. No big spoilers. But there's a scene in the near future that some people might be looking forward to. Maybe. This 'whore' word may compromise it, but we'll see. **

**Love you all for the kind words and support. It makes me endlessly happy to read all the reviews or see this get added to some sort of list. Love, love, love!**


	27. The harvest left no food for you to eat

Voldemort glanced at his wristwatch and sighed. Where the Hell was Minerva? What could have possibly taken this long in her room? After all, he had been in the staff room up to his eyes in paperwork for almost five hours now. His colleagues had filtered in an out, offering their sympathies for his workload, but the only person he wanted to help him hadn't bothered to show up yet. Minerva had agreed to help him with his ridiculous workload, which he was mainly at fault for, but after she disappeared to her room as Evelyn wasted his time, he had assumed she'd be back. How sorely mistaken he was. The hours ticked by. Dinner passed. Slughorn ranted about the inadequacies of the majority of his students. Pomona tried to initiate some pointless conversation with him, but he was more abrupt with her than ever before as his agitation with Minerva grew.

He thought he had been making progress lately. After all, she had accepted his proposal to a dinner date next weekend, which he had planned to a T before he even brought it up that morning. Everything had gone swimmingly since his 'accidental' stay in her room that one night. In fact, her comfort with him had happened much faster than he previously anticipated. At one point this week, during his lecture, he noticed that she wasn't even paying attention anymore. Her eyes were unfocused for most of the lesson, and only at the end did she actually scribble something down regarding his final words. When he finished, she sidled up to the front of the room and accepted a quick kiss between the end of that class and the start of his next. In fact, she accepted almost everything he tried in private as of late, and he realized that her defenses were almost completely gone. Now, he would have to work on her in public, but that was what the dinner date was for. If things went well, he might be able to get her out of his classroom, distanced from Dumbledore, and possibly willing to offer something to his cause by the end of the year. She was a talented witch, after all.

However, as he sat in the staff room alone, he wondered if he had overestimated just how far along she was; he had done it on New Years, and that threw a huge wrench in his timeline. As he stared at a sixth year's essay blankly, he tried to go back over the events leading up to her departure and what might have kept her. Professors always seemed to be dragged off here and there, either by a student – he was a prime example – or by fellow staff members. However, he wasn't sure there was anything, aside from Quidditch, that could keep her attention for five hours. She had expressed a concern with Evelyn Cross sometime earlier in the week, but he brushed it off. Evelyn Cross shouldn't be her concern; that little girl belonged to him, and he would handle her accordingly when the time came.

He tapped his quill on the table, eyes glazed as he ran through the events of the day. There was that minor little argument at the Quidditch match, but she was really pushing his buttons. Why couldn't she just get over her issues in public? They were clearly an item, and it was time to start introducing it to the rest of the staff, even if it was with something as simple as an arm around her back. In a way, he really just wanted to mark his territory on a grander scale. He wanted to throw Dumbledore off his game, first and foremost… But he couldn't do that if he kept overestimating the extent of Minerva's affections. For all his ability to gauge people, he found Minerva exceptionally difficult to read sometimes. Had he done it today?

Sighing irritably, he started gathering up his things, and managed to pile everything neatly together. Much to his distaste, Evelyn's coursework ended up on top, and he crumpled it up before tossing it in the nearby fireplace. She'd get a failing mark for not handing in the assignment, and he honestly didn't care. The girl was turning into such a pain. Her rapidly increasing infatuation with him was actually starting to irk him more than he expected. He tolerated her, for now, because his plans for her had to wait. However, his patience for her diminished each time she turned up at his office uninvited, or lingered at the end of class to discuss something pointless. For now, he let her think that she was blackmailing him into it. She obviously hoped he would eventually start to reciprocate some of her feelings, and hopefully she wouldn't have to hold the threat of inappropriate relations with a student over his head. They hadn't actually done anything too inappropriate – ignoring the time he taught her how to torture one of her peers – so he wasn't actually all that anxious about it. However, he planned on keeping her around; his quest to attain new Death Eaters was progressing remarkably slow, and if he had one now, he wasn't about to send her away. Once they weren't in a confined location – Hogwarts – he would be able to harness her sadistic streak for different uses, rather than entertaining her questions and attempted seductive glances in his office.

Now, Minerva. Minerva, Minerva, Minerva… What kept you? Before he went up to sort this out, Voldemort took a detour down to his office to drop off his mountain of paperwork. How he was going to finish it in a week or so was completely beyond him, especially if his assistant continued to leave him in the lurch. After confirmation from his portrait that no one had been in his office while he was away, he locked up and drifted toward Minerva's room. He had been there several times since he had stayed the night, and it was usually because he invited himself. She seemed to prefer to spend private time in their offices, and Voldemort assumed it was because she considered that area to be neutral ground. However, she had slowly warmed up to him showing up at her door arbitrarily over the last two weeks. At this point, she no longer looked highly irritated when she opened the door. Instead, she sometimes smiled and stepped aside to let him in. Other times, she joined him in the hallway and he took her for a walk. She might have thought she was moving slow, but he saw her as making it far easier than he had ever predicted. Almost just over a month into their relationship and he could already walk into her room unannounced… Whenever she left the door unlocked.

Even if she did lock it, he was fairly confident in his abilities to pick her lock at this point. The hall to her bedroom was empty, as usual, and he assumed most students were nestled up or down in their dormitories at this point. It wasn't late, but curfew ought to almost be in effect. Lost in his thoughts, he stopped at the usual place and frowned he didn't see a doorknob. In fact, there wasn't even a door there anymore. Instead, a portrait of a very abrasive, large old witched glared down at him. He took a shocked step back, and she placed her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing until they almost sunk into her fat face. Crinkly grey hair bounced a tad as she looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed.

"Password?" she snapped in a way quite like Minerva, actually. He stared at the portrait blankly for a moment, watching as the grey clouds billowed behind the witch in the background. She had a foot up on a stool in the foreground, and yet she was standing outside. What a ridiculous concept.

"This… is still Minerva McGonagall's room, is it not?" he inquired slowly, still a little shocked. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? No, he was in the correct spot. When had this happened, and why hadn't she told him about it sooner?

"Password, or sod off," the witch barked, folding her arms across what appeared to be a combination of bosom and belly.

"Right, this is ridiculous," he muttered. He approached the portrait and rapped on it as hard as he could, making the witch squeal with indignation, "Minerva? Minerva, open the door!"

"I'll have you know that I do not respond well to threats!" the witch shrieked, grasping the frames of her portrait as he continued to knock.

"I am a Hogwarts professor," Voldemort sneered. "You have no right to bar me from this room."

"The private quarters of another professor?" she scoffed, arching a thick eyebrow, "I have every right to keep anyone out, even the headmaster if he didn't know the password!"

For a moment, he contemplated blasting a hole clear through the damn portrait – that would teach her a lesson. However, just as he reached into his cloak for his wand, the ridiculous witch swung toward him. Minerva replaced her, and she sighed, shaking her head a little, "I'm sorry, sorry… The password is trout, for next time."

"Trout?" he snorted, quirking eyebrow at her as he stepped in, "Really?"

"Albus thought it was unassuming," the woman insisted as she followed him into her bedchambers. There were papers strewn across her bed, which was a clear indicator that she had been working for some time in here while he drowned in work in the staff room.

"What happened?" he asked, turning around sharp enough to make her stumble into him, "Where were you?"

"I was… sidetracked by something," she replied, her expression giving away no useful detail.

"Like what?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," she replied, pulling her loose hair back into a messy little bun. "Why don't I meet up with you tomorrow for lunch? I've got so much work to do-"

"Why do you have a portrait instead of a door?" he demanded. She looked at a spot somewhere just over his shoulder, and grabbed hold of her arm, jolting her back to the conversation, "Minerva."

"I found that someone had broken into my room," she said quickly, shrugging him off and stepping around to take a seat on her bed. "Albus thought I should change the security on my door to keep it from happening again… Apparently my lock is too easy to pick."

"Was anything taken?" he asked, giving the room a once over. Aside from the papers, everything seemed in order… even the surly glint of her cat's eyes from under the bed.

"No, they left something."

She shifted her gaze into something that he deemed as penetrating, and he wondered just how deeply she was reading into his reactions, "Right. What was left?"

"A letter."

"Ah."

"It called me something… unsettling."

"Do you still have it?"

"No, I burned it," she admitted, glancing at her fireplace. "I didn't want it anymore. I went straight to Albus and he upped my security, but not lead on a possible offender. Know anyone that can pick locks?"

"Minerva," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "you can't possibly think that it was me."

She took a bit of a pregnant pause, and then shrugged, "No, I suppose not."

Two steps backward. His lip twitched, "Well, what did it say?"

"Whore."

"I beg your pardon?"

His eyebrows shot up, and he waited for her to elaborate. However, she said nothing. Instead, she started to pick at her nails, something he had never seen her do in front of him.

"It just said that," she told him finally. "Whore."

_Ten_ steps backward. Voldemort groaned a little, and then took up a spot next to her on the bed. This was the part of a relationship he had no intention of doing, and yet here he was… trying to console. He placed a hand on her back and tried to rub it soothingly, but he felt her stiffen and he retracted it.

"I mean, someone might have just slipped it under my door," she mused, staring at her fireplace, lost in thought. "It wasn't far in… I don't know if someone was actually in here, but Albus thought Gertrude was a good idea."

"Of course he did," Voldemort muttered. How wonderful. The stupid cow of a portrait probably had another one in Dumbledore's office, and would scurry back to tell him just how often Voldemort actually visited Minerva. This could throw him off (which was always entertaining), or it could force the older man to really try to put a dampener on their 'budding' relationship. He certainly didn't need anything else to arise to put Minerva back on her game and into her usual sleuthing self.

"I don't think it was a member of the staff," she said suddenly.

"Probably a student…" Voldemort offered, and then trailed off. It was all fairly clear now. He knew _exactly_ which student was bold enough to do something to Minerva McGonagall.

"Hmm, but I can't think of one that dislikes me that much," she sighed, suddenly placing a hand on his leg. He looked up at her, and by the look on her face, he could tell she wasn't about to initiate anything worth his attention, "I know it wasn't you, but I think I would prefer to be alone tonight. You understand, don't you?"

He was only half-listening, but by the tone of her voice, he realized he needed to say something to keep her from feeling guilty about sending him away, "Of course."

Maybe something a little more. He pushed his rage aside and gave her a kiss on the cheek, followed by another on her temple, "You know I don't think you're… that."

"I know," she replied, nodding her head a touch and forcing something of a smile. "Maybe we aren't as secretive as I thought we were."

"Or someone is _too_ observant," Voldemort growled, rolling his eyes a little. "I think it was a prank… an ironic one in poor taste."

"Ironic?" she repeated as he glared at the door, "Why is it ironic?"

"Because you're the farthest thing in this school from a… that," he told her quickly, trying to keep the word out of the conversation. "I mean, if anyone should get that letter, it should be Sprout. She and Horace aren't as subtle anymore…"

"I… I'm not a prude," she started, but he silenced her with a quick kiss and a hand squeeze. It was all he was willing to give as his anger started to seep back into his eyes.

"I know," he murmured. "I was just… saying. Look, I'll meet you tomorrow morning at nine with tea and breakfast. Until then, don't think about it. You've got that hag-"

"Gertrude."

"_Gertrude_," he ground out, "standing guard. So finish up, get a good night's sleep, and I'll be back in the morning. No hard feelings."

"All right…"

He waved his goodbyes as he rushed out, slamming the bloody portrait behind him. Evelyn… Evelyn Cross. He had no problems when he turned her ridiculousness onto him, but when she interfered with something so delicate as the careful balance he had constructed with Minerva, a balance that meant she wouldn't meddle for Dumbledore anymore… He could kill her. He could kill her right now. This was following through on the blackmail, which meant he didn't need to play nice anymore.

Hands in fists, he stormed down to the Slytherin common room, so clearly angry with something that even Peeves held his tongue as he stalked by. He didn't know the password here either – he had been told, but he wasn't paying enough attention at a staff meeting to remember it – so he sneered something in Parseltongue to the portrait and was instantly granted access. Being the heir of Slytherin certainly still had its advantages…

A few students looked up when he stormed in, some clearly mistaking him for Slughorn and going back to their work, feeling it acceptable to ignore their head of house.

"Davies," he snapped, beckoning a small bow over with a curl of his index finger. "Is O'Dwyer in his room?"

"Yes, professor-"

"Fetch him now."

The boy scampered off quickly, and returned within minutes, Drake O'Dwyer at his side. He didn't take long to linger in his old common room, and instead ushered the lad out into the hall and away from prying ears.

"Are you still interested in offering your services?" Voldemort asked, harkening back to a previous conversation he had had with both Evelyn and O'Dwyer earlier in the year.

He had alluded to the idea that he worked for this mysterious Dark Lord out in the real world, and was looking for eager recruits come graduation in the spring. Both were excited at the prospect, though Evelyn for slightly different reasons he had now come to assume, and he ignored Drake for some time because the lad lacked the raw magical talent that he found in Evelyn. No more. If that wretch of a girl continued to spoil his carefully laid plans, he wasn't going to give her the favouritism she clearly thought she deserved.

"To… to the Dark Lord?" the frightfully unattractive boy asked, licking his lips, "I… Yes, of course, I think my parents would be proud-"

"Good," Voldemort said sharply. "We'll start having meetings every Saturday night. If anyone asks, I'll be tutoring you because… well, your marks are abysmal. You'll need to train hard if you wish to serve the Dark Lord, but you have potential."

"Will I be working with Evelyn? She says you two have become much closer-"

"We will work alone," he remarked coldly. "Don't be late."

"No, I wouldn't-"

He swept off down the corridor without letting the boy finish. Best be a little dramatic to get his head in a whirl. Now, what on Earth was he going to do with Evelyn? She really had put him back a few steps in his initial plan, and dinner certainly wasn't going to be _the_ event he hoped it would be to officially bring Minerva to him. Hmm. He paused mid-stride; while he was down here, he may as well tell the house elves his order for breakfast tomorrow morning… for some stupid reason he would be awake at nine feeding it to Minerva.

These fucking women were going to give him an ulcer.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**LOL. **

**Sorry, I had to do this one. It wasn't as detailed as normal, and it was pretty quick and whatnot… but I had to because it made me giggle. DarthVandola, this one was for you after your review gave me the idea (directly, mind you) to upgrade Minerva's security. Welcome Gertrude. May your presence ruin Voldemort's life just a little more than necessary. **

**Also, way to damage a woman's already fragile ego by basically calling her a nun. Fail. I'd be upset if my significant other was like LOL U DON'T DO SEX. HOW INSANE. **

**Love, love, love!**


	28. You cannibal, you meat eater, you see

Minerva stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. Why she had agreed to go on a dinner date with Tom wasn't beyond her comprehension, but she was flustered that she had accepted one during the school year. _Yes_, it was a Saturday night, and technically neither of them needed to do anything tomorrow, but that wasn't how a professor's life worked. While she was at Hogwarts, she felt like she was involved in everything all the time. When she walked down the hall, she was an example to the students around her. While she ate her meals, she was supposed to be the definition of female etiquette at the table. Being a professor at a boarding school did not end simply because she wasn't in a classroom. Mind you, the staff room felt as though it was its own little private bubble, except from all rules and regulations that most professors abided by, but Hogsmeade was not. Therefore, while she knew it was perfectly acceptable for professors to have social visits together at a village pub on a Saturday night, she couldn't help but feel guilty for doing so.

Unfortunately, no matter her guilt, she couldn't call the date off for no reason. After all, Tom had been very kind during the previous week. She felt uncomfortable, for a time, in all of her lessons knowing that somewhere one of the students considered her a whore. She had come to the conclusion that it was a student playing a practical joke rather than a staff member, as none of her colleagues would ever do such a demeaning thing… but who? Who would go out of their way to do something that would be so unsettling to a young woman? Well, a woman; after thirty, she couldn't possibly be considered young anymore. Gertrude hadn't noticed anyone lurking near her doorway during the course of the week, which was a relief, and she realized just how handy having a portrait lock was in the end. She had opted out of one at first because they could be terribly irritating sometimes, always wanting a bit of attention from the occupants of the room, but if that hag stood between her and a potential intruder better than some lifeless metal lock, Minerva would indulge the witch in whatever she desired.

Now, back to Tom. She pursed her lips and tucked her lengthy hair behind her ear, debating silently whether she ought to just put it up. The wind certainly hadn't been kind that day, pounding against the windows of her office as she marked a pile of second year assignments, and perhaps it would be safer to throw it up. On the other hand, Tom always did say he preferred her hair down… No, she was giving him concessions with a light smattering of make-up and a shorter, knee-length skirt. That was more than enough! So, she grabbed a hair elastic and dragged her dark auburn locks up into a sloppy bun. She wasn't about to do anything professional tonight… This was acceptable.

She nodded decided, and then turned to Gus. He was seated atop the toilet, staring at her with a slightly unimpressed look, which made her roll her eyes and bite back her question.

As if she needed judgment from her cat today.

The dress she had picked was this ridiculous green frock her mother purchased for her almost six years ago. It was short-sleeved, buttoned with a slight V-shape around the neck, and cinched at the waist with a black belt. Alone it wouldn't have been warm enough, but she paired it with a pair of thick, wool stockings and with her tartan cloak, she ought to be fine against the February elements.

She sighed again. Was it really acceptable for her to be doing this? Did Pomona and Horace go on romantic dates during the year? Teacher fraternization was generally more frowned upon than anything, but she still wasn't sure if she was breaking a rule by blowing off marking assignments to have a romantic dinner somewhere in Hogsmeade with Tom Riddle. Perhaps she was just nervous. She hadn't been on a real date since her early twenties; even then it hardly meant anything, and yet she had been a ball of nerves the whole time. She fretted about what people would assume when they saw her out with a man, and was constantly on the defensive about any rumours that followed her nights out. But this had to be different, did it not? She ought to be able to enjoy herself with someone without worrying whether someone was forming some scandalous opinion of her.

They would just need to find a cosy, dark, quiet place to eat in Hogsmeade. Yes, that was the plan. Tom had found her earlier in the day and warned her not to dress up much for him, as they weren't going anywhere fancy enough to warrant much. That was just fine with her, but she would have preferred if he told her exactly where they were going. There were a limited number of places within the village where they could go for a dinner that did not consist of mead and bread, but had she known the exact place she could have estimated who might be there and mentally prepare.

She sighed again, this time leaning in to dab a little of her black eye make-up off. She didn't need to look like some streetwalker, after all! When that task was finished, she glanced at her slim wristwatch and noticed Tom ought to have picked her up by now. He told her he would meet her by her room around eight – far too early, as there were still students running about, but he didn't give her much time to protest when he told her – and the pair were to walk down to Hogsmeade together after. Minerva gave Gus a quick pat, who responded simply by raising his head slightly in the opposite direction, as though displeased with their interaction. She scoffed.

"Don't be such a grump," she muttered, shooting him a pointed look. "I won't be gone for long."

His thick tail whipped back and forth irritably over the edge of the toilet, and she decided to leave him be. It seemed the animal had woken up in a bit of a mood today, and she wasn't about to waste her time sorting out the exact cause. Perhaps he assumed if he was aloof enough, she might transform into her feline state to investigate, but she simply didn't have to time lately to entertain his moods.

So, she gave herself one final look in the mirror, and then stalked out of the bathroom. She grabbed her ankle high black boots, one that gave her a bit of height, and yanked them on. She seldom wore anything other than her kitten heels, but she thought may as well dress up a little for a night out, even if was only to Hogsmeade. With those on, she gathered up her cloak and wand, checked herself one last time in the mirror, and then began to pace around her small room. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Finally, fifteen minutes late, Minerva decided she ought to just find the man herself. After all, there weren't many places he could be in this blasted castle, and he was probably running late with a student. She bid Gus farewell quickly and hurried toward her door, opening it to reveal a commotion outside.

"_Finally_," Tom snapped as she stepped outside. Her eyebrows shot up as she shut the door, and she noticed Gertrude was rather red in the face, her hands on her hips, "I've been fighting with your horrendous portrait for the past fifteen minutes!"

"Gertrude," Minerva sighed, turning back to face the portly, disheveled witch, "I told you Professor Riddle is welcome in my room whenever he pleases. He does know the proper password."

"Don't like him, don't like his face, and don't like his snotty attitude," the portrait remarked plainly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't trust him, neither."

"Yes, well, that's not really your place, is it?" Tom sneered, grasping Minerva by the arm and dragging her away, "Let's go."

He paused before they made it too far and looked down at her bare arms, "Short sleeves?"

"I thought I might… you know, try-"

"I like it," he remarked before she stammered on for too long. "Green suits you."

"Thank you," she replied, glancing back at him and taking in his appearance for a moment. He almost looked like a common Muggle laborer from the streets of London: brown trousers, scuffed shoes, a white collared shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and a Gatsby cap to top it off. "You really meant not to dress up, didn't you?"

"What? Don't like my hat?" he inquired, shooting her a grin as she slipped into her cloak.

"I never really took you for a hat person," she said decidedly, wrapping her cloak's belt snugly around her waist. "You surprise me."

"I try my best," he mused, tugging her down a flight of stairs, at the bottom of which they found a side door leading out of the castle. "I thought we could take a more direct, slightly less well-lit route to Hogsmeade… Can't have wee ones spying on us."

"There's no need to make fun," she commented stiffly, knowing full well he was making the statement to poke at her dislike for public displays around students. He threw his jacket on over his shoulders and laughed a little, taking her hand in his once he was sorted.

"It's all in fun," he told her. "Nothing malicious from me, I promise."

Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believe that. However, despite any reservations she may have had, she felt herself relaxing the further they distanced themselves from the castle. In fact, she hardly bothered to pull her hand away from his as they strolled along the path, though she did stiffen up a little when he kissed her on the cheek. They may have been on a dimly lit, slightly snow covered path on the way to a remote wizarding village, but her colleagues and neighbours were more than able to see them had they also been out for a pub dinner that night. They still managed to have a good chat along the way, and Tom filled her in on a slightly disastrous duelling club from the previous night, during which a third year pair were sent to the Hospital Wing for using inappropriate spells for their skill level. He ended up canceling the night, listing no one as the winner, and warned them that should it happen again, he would cancel the club for the rest of the month.

"Bloody idiots," he grumbled as they entered the boundaries of Hogsmeade village. "If they can't properly grasp the magnitude of a spell, they shouldn't use it on someone else."

"They just want to impress you," Minerva mused, taking in all the possible restaurants quickly as they walked by. "I think that much is obvious."

"Winning impresses me," he fired back, "and doing it without landing yourself in the Hospital Wing is a good way to do it. Dumbledore already dislikes the club as it is… I can't have students ending up there or he'll take it away from me."

She frowned a little, "Oh, I don't think he would do that. Albus advocates that we all take on something outside of our usual academia to get involved with the students."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I seem to leave a poor taste in his mouth," Tom insisted, tugging her off the main road and into a small alley. "He's never really taken a liking to me."

"Well, I don't think he wold give you a position in his school if he completely abhorred you," Minerva said quickly, wondering just how much Tom assumed about Dumbledore's investigation into his teaching practices. Perhaps he knew a little more than he let off, which a bit of an unsettling thought.

"It doesn't matter," he told her, stopping abruptly enough to make her stumble. "I don't want to talk about Dumbledore tonight. Tonight is for you and I to finally act like a couple."

"I think that will depend on where we go-"

He managed to muffle the rest of her sentiment with a kiss, making her eyes widen as he backed her up against the wall. A hand curved around her hip, drawing it near to him provocatively. Minerva, however, simply couldn't permit it to last much longer than a few moments, and retracted a little, her hands resting on his chest.

"I…" she started, her breathing uneven. However, Tom was quick to cut her off.

"We won't be dining in tonight," he informed her, arching an eyebrow playfully as she frowned. "It's a bit of a surprise… I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"I don't really like surprises," she remarked warily as he produced his wand from nowhere. "Tom, where are we-"

"Shush," he snapped, glaring at her a little. Before she could get a word in again, she felt the familiar tug at her navel, and the air in her lungs was pushed out of her as she participated in a side-along with Tom Riddle. The alleyway in dreary, cold Hogsmeade disappeared, and after a moment or so of disorientating travel, Minerva found her feet touching down in a dreary alley elsewhere. It was much louder than the sleepy Scottish village, and much to her surprise, it was the hum of Muggle automobiles that seemed to dominate this new scene.

"W-Where are we?" she stammered, untangling herself from his arms and taking in a quick survey of the scene around her. They had landed next to a rather large metal garbage can in some dimly lit alley.

"Stockwell… Welcome to a piece of south London," Tom explained, shooting her a grin as he grabbed her hand and forced her to move along with him. "I grew up here… There's this interesting little Trinidadian place I quite like. Restaurants in Hogsmeade are boring."

"London?" she repeated, blinking quickly as they exited the alley and joined the rest of the street. Most of the shops appeared to be closed at this point, but there was still a fair amount of people on the streets. Couples, families with young children, and singletons milled about, pausing at windows to examine the contents, all the while ignoring her and Tom's sudden arrival out of thin air.

"I thought we should get away for the night," he explained, giving her hand a little squeeze. "Doesn't it feel good to be away from those halls? Away from students and assignments and responsibility?"

No, not at all. In fact, the further they walked down what was clearly a poverty-riddled area, despite the serenity around her, the more she felt as though she was doing something wrong. Were they even allowed to leave the Hogwarts area? She had never asked before… Sure, Albus came to visit her over the years and he was a professor, but she always saw Dumbledore as someone who stood above all the rules of the school.

"Stop overanalyzing the situation, Minerva," he said sharply, bringing her back to the conversation. "We're fine. This is perfectly acceptable, and we aren't breaking any rules. I'll have you back at a reasonable hour… No one is going to notice we're gone."

She pursed her lips, feeling the tension remain throughout her body. However, she somehow managed to force something of a smile, and then nodded, "You're right. This is nice. Thank you."

"You're a terrible actress," he mused. When she glanced at him, she noticed he was smiling, clearly amused with her discomfort. Normally, that would be enough to put her in a snit, but for some reason, she found his amusement calming. So, she forced the negative thoughts out of her mind – well, to the back of it, anyway – and let out a deep breath, willing her body to relax.

"I'm sorry."

"Forgiven," he told her, releasing her hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Now, do you like curry?"

"I haven't really eaten much of it, to be honest," she replied carefully, eyes landing on some brightly lit, gaudy little café on the corner of the street across from them. It was called _Caribbean Breeze_, and some palm trees were painted onto the concrete exterior.

"I was skeptical at first," he insisted as he pulled her across the road, holding up his hand irritably as a driver honked his horn, "but it's delicious. They dress it up to bring in British consumers… can't look too ethnic."

"Ah. Right."

In all reality, Minerva was slightly baffled by the situation. Never in a million years would she have expected Tom Riddle to bring her somewhere a little dingy, the alleys reminiscent of Knockturn sometimes, and surrounded by Muggles. He seemed to care less as he strolled along, navigating the area with perfect ease. Perhaps because she was so uncomfortable, he seemed the exact opposite.

He pulled the glass door open for her, ushering her in and out of the cold. The fragrance of the colourfully painted restaurant was a little overwhelming at first, but Tom barely seemed to notice.

"Why don't you go get us that booth," he pointed to a little one in the back corner, "and I'll order for you."

"I don't really know about that," Minerva started, put off at the idea of someone picking out her food for her without knowing much about her taste. He gave her a little nudge toward the booth, which was across the restaurant near two colourful signs that signalled the entrance to the lavatory. The place itself was just all together overwhelming to the senses, not just the smell. The walls were a bright yellow, the floor was a musty brown, and there were obscure decorations painted everywhere. The booths themselves were a sky blue, and most looked a little unsanitary.

"I won't get you anything too much," he promised, "but you'll just have to trust me again. Have I led you astray?"

"No," she forced out. With that, he nodded pointedly toward the booth, and Minerva stalked across the establishment irritably. There were a surprising amount of patrons, though none of them seemed to hail from the cook's country of origin. Instead, they were mostly British teens and young adults in large groups squished into a booth. If they could eat whatever this place made, then she could too. That had to be the attitude, right?

She slid into the booth, which was shockingly comfortable, almost to the point where it was a little too willing to suck her body into its depths. She then removed her cloak and set it on her lap, surprised at just how warm the restaurant was, and then brought her attention back to Tom. He seemed to be joking about with the attendant at the counter, laughing quite exuberantly at something the man said as he accepted a small piece of paper. This Tom Riddle seemed to have no end to his oddities.

"Right," he said as he approached, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on his side of the booth. "Everything should be ready in about ten minutes…"

"You had Muggle money to pay for it?" Minerva inquired, her head cocked to the side.

"The owner and I have had an arrangement since I was… probably thirteen," Tom informed her, squinting a little as he pondered. "Yes, early teens, anyway. I've always gotten my meals for free."

"Oh?" she mused, eyebrows shooting up, "And what did you do to earn such a privilege?"

"Caught some thieves," he replied nonchalantly, giving her a shrug. "I was such a moral twat growing up... Couldn't stand to see someone swindled."

She snorted loudly, placing a hand over her mouth as she giggled, "I'm sorry, but I can't believe that for a second!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, poking her arm, "Can't you picture me in my hand-me-downs buttoned up to the brim, eager to help a struggling businessman keep his goods from being taken off his loading trucks?"

"No, not at all," Minerva replied, shaking her head, "but I don't really know enough about you to imagine much of you as a boy…"

"There isn't much to know, really," he remarked, glancing around at the counter across the room. Minerva's gaze narrowed a little, and she leaned in.

"Tell me about it."

"Hmm?"

"Your childhood," she insisted. "Family, friends… anything, really. I don't really know anything about you."

"Rubbish," he countered, and she noticed his jaw clench a little. "You know a lot about me. Maybe not my childhood, but I'd like to think you know more about me than most."

"Well, I suppose," she sighed, "but it would be nice to know a little more. You said you were from this area?"

"Hmm," he intoned with a nod. "Grew up just around the corner. Nothing too interesting, I promise."

"And your parents?"

He was silent for a moment, and Minerva wondered if she had broached too far into a touchy subject. However, the storm in his eyes seemed to pass instantly, and he shrugged again, "My father left us when I was younger, and my mother died… recently. Natural causes."

"I'm sorry," Minerva said automatically, reaching out to place her hand on his. He weaved his fingers through hers, and she couldn't help but smile a little with the way he gazed back at her. "Were you two close?"

He stopped rubbing her hand with his thumb, and then cleared his throat, "I'd rather not talk about it, to be honest. It's a little raw."

"I understand."

"Doesn't mean you're off-limits," he remarked as he resumed stroking her hand with his thumb. "Tell me about your family."

"Oh, we're pretty boring too," she said quickly. "Mother, father, brother… He's in Ireland working as a starving artist, and they're still in Edinburgh."

"And you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Do you go home to mother and father when the school year is up?" he inquired lightly, as though teasing her for having a set of parents.

"I haven't lived with them since I was nineteen," Minerva quipped. "I purchased a country house a few years ago in Scotland… That's home, really."

"Not the hallowed halls of Hogwarts?"

"I'm afraid not," she laughed. "As much as I love it, my home with my horses is where my heart is."

"Horses?" he repeated, eyebrows knitting as he studied her, "You are full of surprises, Minerva."

"I don't think so," she countered, and then added, "but I suppose not everyone gets the privilege of seeing my inner world like you do."

"I actually thought you didn't have one for the longest time," he admitted. "I thought you were this horribly stern woman who had no idea how to have an ounce of fun. I'm glad to see that wasn't completely true. Oh, food's up!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, "Are you saying I'm not fun?"

"I'm joking," he sighed, leaning down to kiss her cheek as he hurried off to bring their mystery dish over. She crossed her arms, a mockery of the sullen girlfriend, which made him roll his eyes as he set a steaming plate of food down in front of her. He vanished momentarily, giving her a chance to examine the meal without his scrutiny, and she decided it wasn't as unappetizing as she expected. Tom returned shortly with two glasses and a pitcher of clear liquid, which she assumed to be water.

"So, welcome to chicken curry with pepper," he pointed to the pile of what she had already assumed was chicken, and then to the large piece of thin bread on the side, "with roti. It's fairly basic… Thought I'd start you off easy."

"Well, I'm so pleased that I've got an expert on Trinidadian food with me," she droned, shooting him a look.

Really, he needn't act so uppity; it wasn't like she had never eaten curry before, and chicken was hardly a speciality of one ethnicity. He ignored her comment, however, and opted to dig into his meal instead. She picked up the plastic fork that accompanied her plate and poked things around, gauging the food first by its smell and appearance. For the most part, it seemed appetizing. However, instead of diving right in, Minerva poured herself a glass of water, and then filled Tom's, and had a quick sip, all the while watching the way he ate. He seemed to enjoy dipping his roti bread into the curry, though she deemed it a little too messy for a public outing, and opted to use her fork.

Her first bite was just a tester, but she could see Tom eyeing her from across the table. It was spicy: spicier than she had predicted. She almost dropped her fork and lunged for her drink, gulping down some water to soothe the burn.

"That's why you have the bread," he droned, pointing at it with his fork. "It makes the food a little more bearable for your first time."

"How can you eat this?" she asked, her tongue aflame, "I don't dislike spice in my food, but this is ridiculous."

"Buck up, Minerva," he chuckled. "It won't kill you."

She rolled her eyes and continued to eat, coupling each forkful of chicken and curry with the bread in an attempt to get it down without the struggle.

"Now, back to where we were," Tom said suddenly. "Your family… Are you close to them?"

"As close as you can be these days, I suppose," Minerva replied after a moment of contemplation. "I only really see them during the holidays, and I occasionally write a letter. I think… I think mum's upset I chose the life I did."

"And what life is that?"

"Not hers," she said with a scoff. "I decided to do something with my life… I decided to work for good, to teach children instead of becoming a bored housewife." She paused, "I suspect there's a bit of jealousy coming from her, but we get along just fine when we're together."

"So you never want children?"

"I didn't say that," she replied, pleased that the conversation was of a casual nature, rather than a probing one that a man might have taken when the subject of children arose, "but I think I have more than enough now, don't you agree?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he grumbled. "They really are all children… even the older ones."

"And they always will be," she agreed. "I suspect Albus cannot look at a variety of people now because he forever sees them as students."

"Hmm."

A silence settled over the pair as they continued to eat, and Minerva realized that discussing anything related to Dumbledore might not work with Tom. They had a distinct dislike for one another – that much was certain – but she had yet to ask either for the reason. It wasn't her place, really, and until it directly affected her, she held her tongue about it.

"Oh," she said suddenly, making him look up at her, "I've just remembered… Beatrice is starting to have flashbacks to the night of her attack."

He stiffened, no doubt stunned at the girl's resilience, and then cleared his throat, "How do you know?"

"Albus told Slughorn, who told Pomona, who, of course, told me," Minerva recited, a little peeved that the headmaster hadn't told her directly. "Albus has been working with her a few times a week in an attempt to retrieve the memories that have been blocked. She's doing really well, apparently. They think they'll be able to crack whatever curse is on her soon."

He took a sip of his water, and then glanced toward the front of the restaurant. It was as if he was looking for something through the glass doors. She frowned a little; he had done it several times that evening, and it was only now that she had noticed the pattern.

"Well, good for Beatrice," he managed finally, giving her a nod and a small smile. "Apparently the hex wasn't strong enough if it can be cracked in a few weeks."

"She has been struggling since her attack," Minerva argued, "and I suspect she will continue to struggle. Her ordeal is far from over."

"I suppose," he remarked, scooping some curry onto the remaining piece of bread. "Any leads on the attack?"

"You know as much as I do," she replied. "It had to be someone in the school, but Albus won't give any more information until he's absolutely certain."

"Well, that's good to know."

"Why?"

"Can't have him throwing blame unnecessarily around the castle," he explained. "You know how quickly rumours spread amongst staff and student alike."

"Yes, that makes sense," Minerva intoned, noting him look outside again. "Are you waiting for someone else?"

"Excuse me?"

"You keep looking outside," she noted, nodding toward the windows. "Am I not company enough?"

"Don't be absurd," he chuckled as she half-heartedly ate another forkful of spice. "Sometimes you're more company than I can handle. I like to look about… It's always odd being back here."

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, finally giving up on her meal and pushing the plate aside, opting to gnaw away at the bread and water until she was finished. He studied her for a moment, and then grabbed a nearby napkin to wipe his hands.

"I thought you were brighter than that."

"I'm sorry?"

"I brought you here to let you _in_ without explicitly telling you I was doing so," he ground out. "Some of my closest… friends barely know of my childhood home, and yet I brought you here for our first real outing. That should say something, does it not?"

She stared at him blankly for a moment, a little surprised at his answer, and then nodded without saying anything further. Anyone could have assumed men were terrible with their words, but she hadn't taken Tom to be one of them. Mind you, he seemed almost as uncomfortable with the idea of being intimate on all levels with another person as she was, so perhaps this was truly his way of showing her he cared.

"How's the mouth?"

"On fire," she replied, "but it's getting better."

He glanced down at his wristwatch, and then grabbed his jacket, "Why don't we find something to make it better? There's an ice cream shop down the street that has over a hundred flavours."

He lowered his voice, "Wizard run, naturally. I'll buy you a cone."

"Sounds like Bertie's, but in ice cream," she mused, excited at the prospect of getting something to soothe her tongue. "Sounds excellent."

"Good," he remarked. "Let's go then…"

She hastily threw her cloak on, glad to be rid of the spicy food and restaurant that was far too bright. She accepted his extended hand as they departed, and Tom waved farewell to the attendant at the counter. Had she looked hard enough, she would have noticed the man give an uneasy smile in return, sighing in relief now that Tom had left.

Instead, she wrapped her other arm around his, opting to give in to a little public acknowledgement of their relationship now that they were so far away from Hogwarts. He tilted his head down and kissed her forehead, which made her blush a little, and she nestled closer to him. Had she seen a couple walking like this on the street, Minerva would have resisted the urge to gag a little. In fact, she was sure Tom would have laughed coldly and rolled his eyes. After all, neither of them were cuddlers, but perhaps this was how you were supposed to interact at the start of any relationship?

They rounded a corner, and Minerva gasped a little as the street opened up into a massive town square. Across the way, there was a giant building that dominated the majority of the area, with iron gates in front of it, and a copper sign that was too far away for her to read properly. She opened her mouth, about to ask what the building was, but before she could get anything out, a massive explosion from within that very building erupted.

Tom wrapped his arms around her and hauled her against a nearby wall, shielding her with his body as several more explosions sounded. The street quickly filled with rubble and ash, and the heat of the flames, even though they were an adequate distance away, was quite overpowering. She coughed, her eyes watering as the smoke started to have an instant effect.

"Are you all right?" she managed, coughing again as Tom eased himself off of her. They had somehow ended up on the ground, probably from the vibrations of the explosions. The street was absolute chaos with people running about, screaming, shouting, crying…

"Please, please get up," she heard a woman beg a man nearby. He too had fallen to the ground, but he was rocking back and forth, his head in his hands. "Darling, please!"

"I told you they'd be back," the man shouted. "I told you the fucking Germans wouldn't give us a decade of peace!"

"Darling, please," the woman cried, trying to drag him up. "It's not the Germans… We're done with them, I promise! Please, get up and come home with me…"

Minerva remembered the Germans. She had only been a teen when the Muggles went to war with one another, and while they were safe in the confines of Hogwarts, the rest of the country was rocked by air raids and destruction. She hadn't experienced any of it personally, but by the way the couple reacted, she knew some lingering effects of war still buzzed in the air.

"On your feet man!" another fellow shouted, rushing out of a nearby shop with two buckets of water, "It's the orphanage! Get to it! There are children inside!"

Minerva placed a hand on her head, her hair askew, and then clutched at Tom, "We should do something…"

"No magic in front of Muggles," Tom managed, coughing a little as he too rubbed his eyes, no doubt affected by the smoke. "We should leave. It doesn't seem… safe."

She glanced up at him as he stared at the smouldering building, and the cries of everyone around them became too much. She needed to help somehow. Without thinking, she retrieved her wand and started toward the flames, eager to douse them from a safe distance, but Tom grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back, ignoring her protests as he transported them away from the scene and back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**Hellloooo! Sorry for the delay in updates, but this is my longest chapter yet. Huzzah! Huzzah for first dates, total lies about childhood (on Tom's part, mind you), and an explosion of a certain orphanage. I read online that Stockwell Orphanage in London is supposed to be where Tom was raised, so I rolled with that. I can't recall if it ever states where exactly it was, so I'm just going to go with what the HP Lexicon told me. I'll let you all come to your own conclusions about the purpose of this date and Tom's interactions in it. **

**Also, the line about "not being too ethnic"… I think we can all agree Tom might be a tad racist (not overly so, however – I think he sees power as power, regardless of the race, but it might be different with Muggles), or simply comments on the social prejudices of the era. I haven't necessarily studied racial tensions in the 1950s in England, but in the US I know they were alive and well, so it's not really surprising that a comment like that would go unnoticed. **

**Also. LOL at Gus being judgmental. You know that look your pet gives you. Bastards. **

**I tried to make this chapter a little more heavy on the dialogue. I know some people enjoy it more than description, so I'm going to try to include it in scenes where it seems necessary!**

**Anyway. I miss this story. Hopefully I'll chuck up another update soon. **

**HAPPY APRIL, LOVELY READERS! **


	29. But I have seen the same

Voldemort had been on a high for the past two days. His little date with Minerva had accomplished several things. Naturally, the woman felt a new closeness to him because he introduced her to his "childhood". In return, Voldemort had a reason to be in Stockwell the day his childhood died.

For some time now, he had been destroying everything from his past. His putrid Gaunt relatives were taken care of some time ago, and all remnants of his Muggle heritage was almost completely erased with the change of his name. Naturally, he still had to abide by his ridiculous Muggle father's name while he was at Hogwarts, but thus far, only Albus Dumbledore knew the true link between Tom Marvolo Riddle and Lord Voldemort. Evelyn seemed to make the assumption as well, but he discounted her from just about everything at this point because of her inability to keep her feelings separate from the task required of her. The boy, Drake, only knew him as a follower of the Dark Lord. No one else knew that Tom Riddle no longer existed in the real world, and he intended to keep it that way. Most people who had been considered childhood "friends" were terminated if they refused to join him. As his numbers swelled to an impressive size – how many followers had Grindlewald had, after all? – he found it easy to dispense with people who may know of the old Tom Riddle, even if they could not make the connection to his current self.

All of the children who had the unfortunate joy of attending Stockwell Orphanage with him had met a gruesome end over the years. From what he understood, there was an investigation regarding the untimely deaths of the former orphanage occupants – including a certain Tom Riddle, who had vanished without a trace some in the 1940s after he graduated from his private boarding school. Mrs. Cole withered away in the hospital when her time finally came, and he saw her death as a mercy killing more than anything. She went without a sound, staring at him through lifeless eyes, almost imploring him to take her off the ridiculous Muggle machinery that the doctors had hooked her up to. He hadn't meant to give her any parting happiness when he tracked her down, and he felt a distinct lack of smugness when he killed her.

_Caribbean Breeze_ was a restaurant that he had a particular liking for as a boy, especially when the men unloading the trucks offered him a bit of bread if he skulked around long enough. One of the young workers there, an island boy who always smelled awful, caught him stealing one day when the other workers were taking a quick break. There was a bit of a fight, until young Tom accidentally set the boy's pants on fire. He hadn't meant to do it, but in the physicality of his rage, something came out of it. He enjoyed watching the boy squirm, shrieking as the fire ate up his pant legs, until young Tom finally grabbed a bucket of collected rainwater and doused the flames. The owner of the establishment came bumbling out to investigate all the noise, and was so overcome that the orphan boy had saved his son that he offered to give him food whenever he wished. Sometimes he made his son deliver it to young Tom at the orphanage, and sometimes young Tom had the freedom to stroll down and eat anything he liked in the kitchens. Young Tom the Hero. Young Tom the Devil – the boy saw him as thus, and never uttered a word in front of him by his own doing.

He wanted to end them too, but as Voldemort dined there that night with Minerva, he reveled in the power he had over the young island boy who had grown into a competent, though scarred, island man. He owned the restaurant now, his father long dead from some sort of Muggle disease, and he managed the counter. He laughed when Voldemort made a joke. He prepared anything Voldemort demanded. He added extra sauces and pieces of bread. The man was terrified, and Voldemort found the power delicious. So, he spared the restaurant from the fate he delivered to Stockwell's only orphanage.

Voldemort had picked that day in February – coincidentally it was a Saturday – to destroy the orphanage. He planned it months ago, long before he knew he would be trying to woo Minerva McGonagall into his services, and he wasn't about to set it aside because he had essays to mark. He also probably wasn't permitted to leave the castle grounds without a valid, legal reason, lest he had Dumbledore on his tail all evening. Mind you, Minerva was Dumbledore's sleuth, so it made perfect sense to spoil her a little in the process. Their dinner date was a perfectly legitimate reason for him to be somewhere outside of Hogwarts on that night, and he had the perfect witness to come to his defense should he find himself accused of something.

Now, he chose that day because it was unassuming to most. There were no holidays in the near future – Muggle or magical – nor was it on the same date as any recent Muggle war events. Instead, he had chosen it for a personal reason. That day marked the day he had been beaten within an inch of his life while living under Mrs. Cole's watchful eye. He was five, and the board of trustees at the orphanage were concerned over his magical tendencies. They had called in numerous doctors in the past, all of whom could not find anything medically wrong with him. They brought one in who thought young Tom was simply causing trouble. He thought young Tom ought to be punished, not coddled. He took young Tom into a private lavatory, filled the bath with ice water, and forced him to sit in it until he couldn't feel most of his extremities. The doctor left momentarily, and young Tom eased himself out of the frigid tub, collapsing on the tile floor in despair. The doctor returned with a cane, and proceeded to beat him until several bones in his hand broke.

Mrs. Cole seemed upset at what had transpired, but the doctor assured her that once young Tom had healed, she'd get no more trouble out of him. All it took was a firm hand. Voldemort remembered that. He told the withering old fool that as he tortured him in his private bathroom in his country estate the year after he left Hogwarts. All it took was a firm hand. The trustees were thrilled with the man's results back when it had happened; young Tom was so good for about a year, and soon more children were subjected to visits from that particular doctor. Voldemort felt no pity for them: only a searing rage for the doctor whenever he saw him. The man's death had been slow, but the orphanage itself, the institution, ought to be punished swiftly and severely.

He left Nott and Malfoy in charge of managing the task. He gave very specific instructions about how to enter the establishment unseen, where to plant potent explosive devices, and not to rescue any of the children. Both men were eager to please, and neither seemed to have given the occupants of the orphanage a second thought before he had mentioned them. Voldemort was not delusional enough to think he was saving them by giving them death – no, he knew many could have gone on to live successful lives once they had become of age. However, killing Muggles hardly weighted on his conscience, no matter the age, and as he watched the second and third explosions go off, Minerva in his arms, it took every ounce of control not to grin horribly at the wreckage.

He had wanted to stay longer and watch the chaos unfold. The structure itself was massive, and the magical flames would spread quickly and burn throughout the night. However, Minerva seemed quite insistent on helping in any way possible, and he couldn't risk her discovering the source of the fire was magical, not Muggle. So, he dragged her away and took her back to Hogsmeade as quickly as possible, and as much as it bothered him not to see the full extent of his plan coming to fruition, he knew being back with her was safest. She was distraught, of course, her eyes watery as she no doubt contemplated the fates of all the little brats inside. Voldemort was comforting, of course, and wrapped a secure arm around her as he walked her back to the castle, her legs a little unstable.

Muggles had been at war with each other since the 1930s, he argued, kissing her forehead whenever he thought it necessary, so it made sense that this might just be a German or Russian act of retaliation for something meaningless. The explanation seemed suited to her, but she was still upset that they hadn't done something to help the children. Her naivety was charming, to a point, and he took her back to her room. That portrait deserved to burn, but when the portly witch saw just how upset Minerva was, she held her tongue and permitted them entry without much of a fuss. They hadn't returned late by any stretch, and by half past eleven he had Minerva in bed, her face nestled against him, his fingers in her hair, and her hand resting neatly on his chest. Both sunk into their own private thoughts – Voldemort contemplated his next move, and Minerva no doubt lingered on the children.

Before he knew it, it was morning, and he had fallen asleep in his clothes from the night before. Minerva was up before him again, but Voldemort was in no mood to have the house elves bring them some sort of romantic breakfast in bed. Instead, he sauntered into her bathroom while she was in the shower, and knocked on the curtain. She was scandalized, of course, and ordered him out rather heatedly. It was always so delicious to watch her squirm, all the while her bloody cat glaring at him from behind the toilet. He insisted he wasn't leaving without a kiss, and eventually she poked her wet head out from behind the blue shower curtain to give him a peck. Her cheeks blazed brilliantly, and he left her room with a sense of accomplishment.

Naturally, Gertrude berated him for staying the night, shouting something along the lines that it wasn't decent as he stalked away. He swung by the Great Hall shortly after, but after the piercing look that Dumbledore gave him, he thought twice about staying for his meal. Instead, he grabbed a few warm buns to go with his tea, and then departed. Once he had eaten and dressed for the day, he settled into his office to begin the mundane duties that being a professor required.

Essays, assignments, coming up with new ideas for homework… How did people do it for so many years? He thoroughly enjoyed the actual lessons, and the respect (or fear) that he had cultivated over the course of the year was thoroughly pleasing. However, spending mass amounts of his free time making sure all of his students, all seven years of them, understood what he had been teaching was quite taxing. He found it especially irritating because there were a lot of idiots roaming the halls of Hogwarts. Honestly, they should be forced to take some sort of normal intelligence test before being invited to attend, and he wouldn't have to deal with their insufferable idiocy any more than necessary. Minerva shared his sentiments, even if she wouldn't say it; how many times had he listened to her grumble about the simpletons in her lessons as she waded through an equal amount of homework? Countless.

The day wasn't a complete waste. Drake sauntered down to his office sometime around seven that evening, after Voldemort had endured hours of student work and lesson planning in solitude, and the boy asked if they might have a lesson. Amused, pleased, and glad to be rid of his work, he locked them both in his office and began to lecture on the effectiveness on the Cruciatus Curse, and how Drake ought to hold his wand if he wanted to do well with it. The boy was a quick learner, though he was no Evelyn. Evelyn learned with one or two tries, while Voldemort watched Drake suffer through six or seven until he finally got it right. The lad wasn't his first choice by any stretch, and his family wasn't quite as well off as the Cross lineage professed to be. However, there were several other siblings in his family that he could tempt when they became of age, and more numbers occasionally outweighed the need for gold.

Suddenly, in the midst of his explanation as to why silencing a victim was absolutely necessary, his portrait cleared his throat noisily. Voldemort glanced over his shoulder, "What?"

"Albus Dumbledore is approaching," the portrait replied simply. He sighed, and the pointed at a small desk at the side of his office.

"Sit," he instructed Drake, "and do not speak unless spoken to by me. You're in here for a detention and nothing more."

"Of course," the boy whispered, hastily settling into the seat. Voldemort grabbed a pile of papers off his desk and a quill, and then stuffed it all in front of the boy.

"You've been working on that for the past three hours," Voldemort sneered, and the boy hastily nodded, quill in hand as he hunched over the paper. With a slight nod, Voldemort strolled back to his desk and took a seat, cracking his neck noisily as he returned to some papers he had been marking earlier. There was a knock at his door only moments later, and he looked up, "Enter."

He knew he had invested in that portrait for a reason. He arched an eyebrow as Dumbledore stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Voldemort crooned. "Have you come to monitor my detentions too?"

The old man glanced at Drake, and then inquired as to why he was there. The boy looked at Voldemort quickly, and then fumbled over his words. Evelyn would have had a lie waiting.

"He cannot keep his eyes on his own work during my quizzes," Voldemort said finally, shooting the boy a glare for his slowness. "I thought writing lines on a Sunday evening ought to set him straight."

"Cheating is a very serious offense," Dumbledore remarked gravely. "If it happens again, you will send him to me."

"Of course," Voldemort mused. "It was his first time, after all…"

Dumbledore seemed to have swallowed the lie, but there was still some very clear skepticism on his face. He stood in front of Voldemort, his hands clasped behind his back, and it was fairly clear that he wanted a private audience. He sighed, lip twitching a little; it would be best to just get this over with.

"Get out," he barked at Drake, making the boy scramble to his feet. "We'll finish this tomorrow evening."

"Yes, sir," the boy squeaked, darting around Dumbledore and shutting the door noisily behind him. Dumbledore continued to stand silently in front of him, staring at him through those ridiculous half-moon spectacles, until finally Voldemort snapped.

"Well?" he sneered, glaring at the man as his hands balled into fists, "Have you simply come to look at me, or do you have something useful to say?"

"The Prophet reported on the destruction of a Muggle orphanage last night," the headmaster remarked plainly. "I know you have special ties-" Voldemort snorted. "-to that place, and I thought I might see if you had heard."

"I read the paper too, Dumbledore."

"Excellent," the man continued, his expression decidedly neutral. "Now, I might ask where you were last night."

"You might."

"You were not in your office, the staff room, nor did you make an appearance for dinner," Dumbledore continued. "I will only ask you once, Tom… Did you have anything to do with the orphanage? Almost forty children are dead or injured."

"I had other plans last night," Voldemort replied, hardly batting an eye at the death toll.

"Which were?"

"I was with Minerva, actually," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his lips as the old man's eye twitched. "I took her to dinner. We had a lovely time… I must thank you for getting her to monitor my lessons… It's really brought us closer together. She's such an intelligent young witch. Pretty, too."

A very tense silence settled between the two men, and Voldemort leaned forward a little, "If you don't believe me, you may ask her yourself. I've been nothing but a gentleman thus far… I find her intellect refreshing."

"Be careful, Tom," Dumbledore told him after another moment of silence. Voldemort grinned.

"I always am."

And with that, the headmaster departed, shutting the door softly behind him. He would no doubt confirm the story with Minerva, and she would be quite embarrassed for having been caught going out on a Saturday night by her mentor. However, he was fairly sure she wouldn't admit to going all the way down to London. A simple dinner in Hogsmeade seemed like the better choice, and when pressed, he had a feeling Minerva was at the point where she might even start telling little lies for him to keep her image pure.

The look on Dumbledore's face when he mentioned a dinner date with his prized possession actually made a lot of the monotony of today worth it. He smirked a little, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his eyes. He was a remarkably patient man when he tried to be, but if he wanted to have complete freedom in this castle, he needed to move faster.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**Just a short little Voldemort chapter. I felt the need to get his thoughts out regarding the events in the last chapter, and kind of to show just what a huge asshole he is. I think he's warming to Minerva quite a bit, but those sorts of emotions/feelings aren't things he'd fixate on. Rather, I think it'd be something he would dismiss before it even crossed his mind. Makes things much more fun, no?**

**I also think he kind of misses Evelyn. She's a huge pain in the ass, yes, and probably too emotional about him for him to tolerate, but he appreciates talent. She'll be back, not to fret… and when she's back, he'll remember just why he finds her so frustrating, talent or not. **

**Thank you, as always, for the lovely reviews! **


	30. I know the shame in your defeat

Minerva was thankful for a lot of things at Hogwarts. She was thankful for her continuously developing relationships with everyone on the staff team, right from the top with Albus down to the custodial staff. She was thankful for the ability to expand her knowledge on a continuous basis throughout the year with ample access to the library's extensive collection. She was thankful for her students, each and every one of them, because they made her life feel fuller now than it had in the last decade. In a way, she was thankful for Tom because he made her feel wanted and kept her on her toes for all occasions.

But as if this very moment, Minerva was particularly thankful that none of the people in charge of big decisions went with the proposed Valentine's Day extravaganza that some of the students wanted. It was a Muggle holiday thought up by the chocolate companies at best! Naturally, Minerva could understand why it would be wonderful to have a day dedicated to love… People really ought to take the time to treasure everyone in their lives, but that was what the Christmas season was for! After all, didn't loved ones buy each other gifts then? If they wanted another day where people had to show their appreciation through gifts and sappy ballads, they really ought to make it a little further on in the year.

After all, Christmas _just_ happened, along with the New Year celebrations… So really, this holiday ought to be in the summer, and that way she wouldn't have to watch students go overboard on their public displays of affection. The staff had vetoed the idea of decorating the school, or permitting a 'free dress' day in which students could dress in pink or red or white… No, Albus sanctioned cute little cupcakes for dessert that evening, but that was it. The holiday was started by Muggles _for_ Muggles, so whenever a traditionally pure witch started to bemoan about the lack of spirit around Hogwarts, Minerva made a pointed remark that they might not have it at all if it weren't for her Muggleborn peers.

Somehow, that always shut them up.

Minerva had gone through the past couple of days in a bit of a funk. Although she was sure Tom hadn't expected anything horrifying to come out of their date in London, the event she had witnessed was quite disturbing. She hadn't ever been in a war like this, and then all of a sudden they were thrust onto the front lines of some Muggle conflict that brutally murdered dozens of innocents. The Prophet had reported on it the following day, and Minerva read the article hungrily. It was a Muggle orphanage, and the only reason it was reported on was because it was near a wizarding establishment. It hadn't made the front page or anything to that effect, but Minerva was pleased it had been acknowledged to some degree. People ought to know that Hogwarts wasn't a bubble, and the world wasn't in a safe place just because Muggles had stopped bombing the British countryside for almost twenty years. It seemed they were forever at odds.

Mind you, was the wizarding world so different? On the opposite page, Minerva had found a report of some Ministry officials that had disappeared without a trace over the course of January, and they suspected the mysterious dark wizard who seemed to have easily taken Grindelwald's place once Albus dispensed with him. Lord Voldemort… That's what some had called him. What a name. She scoffed every time she read about it – albeit indirectly, as few wanted to earn the ire of his fanatical followers by printing his full name. Instead, they went with "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", which was equally ridiculous, in her opinion. Albus, who normally spoke with her about most things, was usually fairly neutral on the subject, as if he was waiting for this man to make a much grander public gesture before he demonized him, even with Minerva in privacy.

Speaking of Albus – Minerva was forced to admit that she and Tom went on a date the following day. The headmaster found her in her office late in the afternoon with some tea, and settled in for what she expected to be a pleasant chat about the term. However, it swiftly turned to her romantic attachments in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable, and finally he flat-out asked her if she was seeing Tom intimately. Mortified that her mentor was picturing her with the man she had been asked to watch objectively, she fumbled about for a bit, and eventually explained that Tom had invited her to dinner, and they enjoyed a fairly pleasant – though short – meal in Hogsmeade.

She couldn't bring herself to tell him just yet that there were romantic feelings for Tom Riddle; it would only prove what so many assumed about women, and she wasn't going to personify the stereotypical weaknesses of her sex. She hadn't meant for there to be feelings with him. Naturally, they were bound to occur the more she and Tom spent time with one another on a non-professional basis, but she hadn't expected them so quickly. In a way, she felt like Albus would have been severely disappointed in her for choosing such a strange candidate to be a potential partner, even if it was only temporary.

So, when Albus tried to prod into the subject for further details, Minerva managed to explain that she had developed an unexpected friendship with the man. However, she assured her mentor that she was still monitoring his lessons – though not as diligently, but that was also kept quiet – and would report to him the moment Tom stepped out of line again. He already had a few strikes against him, most of which she had reported to Albus with a week or so of their happening. What the man did with the information was against her, but he was always pleased whenever she spoke against Tom.

She wanted to know, desperately, why he had hired the man if he had such a deep sense of mistrust for him. However, his professional decisions weren't any of her business if they had no direct effect on her or her lessons, so she kept her mouth shut. Now, if she was a Head of House, a position slightly elevated from a normal professor, then she might have questioned some of his motives. As it stood currently, while she had been his friend for many, many years, Minerva had only been Dumbledore's subordinate for a year and a half, and she wasn't about to overstep her boundaries prematurely. Now, if only he would do the same with her love life...

On the subject of love lives, Pomona was over the moon about Valentine's Day. Apparently, Horace was taking her down to London for a fancy dinner – despite the fact it was a Wednesday evening – and he had already gone all out with flowers and chocolates. Her friend was thrilled at all the attention she was getting, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she had completely dominated the conversation in the staff lounge with her plans for that evening. There weren't many people around, as she was sure someone would have dampened her mood with a rude comment on her noise level, but Minerva cringed with every giggle and squeal. She simply couldn't understand the excitement: it was dinner. They were going for dinner on a Wednesday night.

Tom had been seated across from her throughout the whole ordeal. At some point, she glanced up at him to gauge his reaction to Pomona's gushing and blushing over Slughorn's attentions. When she did, he looked up too, and arched an eyebrow at her. Quickly, she shook her head, knowing full well he had been thinking the same thing. Did she want any of that? The flowers? The chocolates? Good gracious, no. No, no, no. Not now, not ever did Minerva think this holiday justified any of the hype that it had been given. Tom smirked a little at her response, mostly because Pomona talked through the entire interaction about her hair and outfit, and Minerva eventually tuned back in enough to give some good feedback. Her friend was satisfied, and _she_ was satisfied that Tom knew he didn't need to do anything for her on this ridiculous day.

She had a late evening with her second year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, but she could tell they were ready to check out about twenty minutes before the night class came to an end. So, knowing that she wasn't going to have anyone's attention for much longer, she dismissed them and told them to have a nice evening. Instead of dragging herself up to her room to go over her assignments, Minerva managed to make it to her office instead. Gus was going to be irked that she didn't come straight back to give him some much needed time, but after taking in her sixth year's essays on the history of water cup transfiguration, it didn't seem practical to dedicate an evening to romping around the room with her cat. The essays _could_ wait a few days if she really wanted them to, but it was always better to be ahead than behind; last year, February flew into March, and suddenly it was May and spring was lost to the world.

So, she settled down at her little desk in front of her window. Minerva's office was near the Gryffindor tower, which made it familiar, and it was one of the few offices that had a window overlooking one of the castle's courtyards. Everyone was jealous of her office, and few were snide enough to remark that Dumbledore had played the favouritism card when he gave it to her the previous year. Whatever the case may be, Minerva wasn't about to question it. On really clear days, she could even see the Quidditch pitch, which was a nice touch. She had a small desk that fit neatly in front of the small window, along with some bookshelves and a set of hard chairs should any student wish to have a meeting with her privately.

She was only two essays in when there was a knock at her door. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was already half past eight – apparently it had taken her longer to correct the essays than she had predicted. Clearing her throat, she set her quill down and turned back in her chair, facing the door directly behind.

"Come in."

Much to her surprise, Roger Wood poked his head in, a grin on his lips, "Not a bad time, is it?"

"No, no, just… marking essays," she said with a sigh, rubbing her eye a little to ward away the strain of squinting at messy writing. "What can I do for you, Wood?"

"Oh, nothing," he insisted as he stepped inside. "I just wanted to drop something off."

She frowned, "I have all of your recent assignments."

"No, nothing like that," Roger told her, suddenly producing a red box from behind his back. "Happy Valentine's day, Professor."

Minerva stared at the abhorred, unnecessary box for a moment, and then swallowed, her lips in a thin line, "Have you given these to all of your professors?"

"Only the ones I can actually stand," he chuckled. "So, just you."

"I don't want that," she said pointedly, rising out of her seat and keeping a hand on the back of her chair.

It might have been harsh, but she felt frustrated that they hadn't moved past all this nonsense. She had been practicing with the team whenever she could, and even in the moments of solidarity, Roger had given her no further impression that his teenage crush lingered. Well, until now, apparently.

His face fell a little at her comment, but he took a step forward, the box still held out, "Look, it's just chocolate."

"I don't like chocolate," she told him bluntly.

"Everyone likes chocolate."

"Well, this seems to be one of the many things you do not know about me, Mr. Wood," Minerva said sharply. "If it was any other student, I would have taken them, but surely you can understand why I will not accept these from you. Not today, not now. I will not encourage you."

"You aren't encouraging me," he argued weakly. "It would make me happy if you accepted my gift-"

"No more gifts with underlying romantic implications," Minerva told him. "I can't allow it. I'm going to give you the chance to turn around and leave right now. If you do, I will continue coming to practice as though nothing ever happened. Go… give those to a girl in your house. I'm sure they'd actually appreciate the sentiment."

She hated how hurt he looked, how disappointed and shattered he appeared when only moments earlier he seemed so happy with himself. However, it must have been obvious why she couldn't allow this.

"I don't want to give it to some girl in my house-"

"Roger," she said sharply, her eyes widening a little. "One chance… Please take it."

He stood before her for a moment, silently contemplating his options. Mercifully, he managed to see reason, and left without another word. It would be a challenge to go to the next practice – or even see him in class tomorrow – without thinking about what had just transpired. Had he only been a few years older, Minerva might have considered him a troublesome suitor, but a possibility all the same. However, because of his age and their professional relationship, she couldn't even permit her mind to wander down that road without feeling guilty. So, while she might have been a little too harsh on him, it was necessary to keep their friendship as uncompromised as possible.

Shaking her head, she settled back into her chair, hands resting limply atop her pile of essays. Why must he continue to do this? Couldn't he at least wait until the year was out? Honestly, that boy. There was another knock at her door, and she growled a little. Why couldn't he just take her one chance? She stalked across the room and opened the door irritably, only to relax a smidgen when she realized it was Tom.

"Not a bad time, is it?"

She flinched a little at the words, how remarkably similar they were to Roger's only minutes earlier, but then shook her head, stepping to the side to let him in, "No, no… I was just marking essays."

"You seem flustered," he noted as she shut the door behind him. "Everything all right?"

"It's this ridiculous day," Minerva told him, watching as he removed his cloak and hung it over the coatrack near her bed. "I mean, Wood's just been here with a box of chocolates for me-"

"What?"

"And I know he knows that I won't return his affections," Minerva ranted, pleased to have a slightly unbiased ear to unload on, "but he continues to test my patience. And I… Is that a bottle of wine?"

She spotted it clutched in his left hand, and it derailed her completely. Oh, not Tom too.

"It's not what you think," he said quickly, holding up a hand. Her eyebrows shot up. "I too detest today… It's far too flowery and girly and I cannot tell you how much handholding went on my lessons-"

"I suspect I can guess," she muttered, rolling her eyes a little.

"So, I thought we ought to spend the night trying to forget just how much teenage face-sucking we've seen today with a bottle of red," he told her, quirking an eyebrow with a smirk on his lips. "Nothing romantic implied, unless you'd like me to charm you?"

She scoffed noisily, though she bore the same hint of a smile as she sauntered over to her bookshelf and retrieved two drinking glasses. They weren't exactly wine glasses by any stretch, but they could easily serve their purpose. She felt Tom wrap around her from behind, planting a kiss on her exposed neck. Her skin prickled at the touch, and she nibbled on her lower lip as he uncorked the wine and filled both glasses.

"Wherever do you keep finding all this expensive wine?" she inquired after glancing at the bottle's label. He chuckled a little in her ear as he set the bottle down on a nearby shelf, a hand wrapped around her waist as he pulled her back toward the pair of chairs at the opposite end of the room.

"Slughorn."

"I've never known him to be generous with his wine," she commented as she took a seat on his lap. He accepted one glass and she quickly took a sip of her own, savoring the deliciousness of the first taste.

"I've actually been stealing them from his office."

"_Tom_!" Minerva gasped, shooting him a scandalized look over her shoulder. He grinned again, feigning an innocent expression as she continued to indulge herself on Slughorn's wine.

"Students have been stealing from Slughorn as long as he's been teaching here," he argued with a shrug. "If he wanted to stop them, he would have moved his collection. I think he likes feeling like he's the trendy professor giving his students alcohol."

"Well, you aren't a student," she commented, "and I think you should stop. I don't want all my gifts to be stolen."

"Who said this was a gift?" he laughed, his spare arm curving around her hips and resting on her thigh, "I took it for me… and I just happened to bring it with me to your office. It would be rude to keep it all to myself."

"And a little worrying, I suspect."

He took another sip of his wine as she settled against him, her drink resting in both hands on her lap, cheek nuzzled against him. Oddly enough, he made her hard chairs seem very comfortable, though it must have been a bit awkward for him beneath her.

"You look very nice today," he murmured, stroking her leg softly as he finished the rest of his drink. She smiled a little, watching as he set his empty glass down on the floor, and then tilt his head up to face her.

"You really know what you're doing," she muttered. "Coming here to hate on the holiday I hate, and then plying me with wine and compliments… Flatterer."

"You make it easy," he whispered, pinching her chin a little as he leaned up to give her a quick peck. "I don't think you realize just how much you ought to be worshipped."

"Laying it on a little thick, Tom," she giggled, rolling her eyes as her cheeks tinted.

He shrugged, neither denying nor confirming it. Instead, he kissed her again, sliding his hand from her chin to cup her cheek. She inhaled deeply at the contact, a twinge of arousal in the pit of her stomach arising as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss in their usual familiar pattern. Even if it was familiar, she found her body reacted with equal portions of excitement each time, always eager to feel his lips, hands, and body melting to hers with ease.

He took her glass from her hands as they shifted, and she ended up straddling him faster than any other night. She wasn't particularly sure where the desire came from, or where the need stemmed, but his touch was especially potent tonight. His hands roamed her back, arse and legs as she greedily consumed everything she could from his lips. Perhaps it was because they hadn't been alone for almost two weeks. Perhaps it was because he brought her wine and always made her feel desired, even if he hadn't said a thing at all. Perhaps it was because he hated Valentine's Day too.

He grunted a little as he yanked the skirt of her dress up to her hips, leaving her legs exposed on either side of him. The chair made it a little uncomfortable, but she knew he adored her legs, especially in garters, and he would never pass up an opportunity to run his hands along them. Minerva gasped as he ran his lips down her neck, and then nipped sharply at her collarbone. Her breathing was ragged as he hoisted her up and off the chair, crossing the short distance to her desk. He set her down atop some essays, which she pushed to the side, too engrossed in her current activities to even _think_ about stopping to save a student's work.

An arm wrapped under her knees and tugged her forward to the very edge of the small desk. He stepped between her thighs, pulling her closer as she kissed him, her arms wrapped snugly around his neck. His arousal was suddenly very apparent, and Minerva faltered for a moment, breaking away in an attempt to catch her breath. He took that as an opportunity to pull her hair out of its fastenings, tossing the pins aside as her lengthy hair tumbled down her back. He murmured her name against her skin, a hand knotting in her loose hair as the other ran up her leg, curling a finger around the garter.

He drove her mad. He always drove her mad, but she couldn't quite bring herself to give in to any desires. She wasn't like that. She wasn't what that obnoxious joke had called her. Yet, he thought she was something pure, something chaste, and in a way, it bothered her. She didn't want him to think she was some aged, conservative old professor who had lost all sexual desire in her twenties. He never complained when they stopped, but she knew he wasn't satisfied. There was always a gleam in his eye, one that she couldn't decide if it was a taunting one or an impatient one, but she hated to see it. Tonight there shouldn't be a gleam. She wasn't a prude. She wasn't.

Her nimble fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, and although they shook just a tad, she managed to undo all of them quickly, and he shrugged it off. In return, his hands traveled up her thighs, and she gasped when he unclasped the garter belts and, without hesitation, slipped a pair of fingers beneath her undergarments. She shifted as he began to tug it off. She wasn't a prude. She wasn't. He whispered for her to relax as he slid the plain cream coloured undergarments down her legs and over her knees, and she hastily pushed them down her legs, embarrassed that he had seen them.

He kissed her in response, hungrily exploring her mouth as her hands gripped his undershirt. Minerva whimpered a little as a hand slid between her thighs, stroking and teasing in a way that no man had done the first time they were together. Men were never so forward. It was exciting, and despite her nerves, she could feel herself giving in bit by bit. Her hands wandered down a little lower as he nibbled on her earlobe, and she swallowed thickly at the thought of touching him in the way that he touched her. However, she only managed to get as far as his belt, pausing at the buckle, and she knew she couldn't bring herself to go any lower just yet. Sensing her hesitation, Tom brushed her hands away and undid the buckle himself, and she hastily looked up and away. She wasn't a prude. She wasn't.

An arm wrapped around her and he pulled her to the edge of the desk once more, and then hoisted her legs up a little. He urged her to relax once more, his face nuzzled in her neck, and she moaned softly when he finally thrust into her. There was no hesitation, no tentativeness, her eyes widened and she grabbed a fistful of his hair as he filled her completely, his breathing a little shaky by her ear. He moved painfully slow at first, no doubt concerned for her period of adjustment to such a pointed invasion. However, the pain gave way quickly, as it always did, and Minerva's grip on his hair loosened as he pushed into her steadily. He shifted, tugging at the ends of her hair as he took her harder, slamming the desk back against the wall with each thrust.

She cried out his name softly as she leaned back, overwhelmed by his roaming hands and tongue, all the while her arousal tugged at her from the inside, begging for more. Hard fingers dug into her thighs, and she knew he was going to leave marks everywhere he touched. He whispered softly in her ear, about how long he had watched her, how beautiful she was, how much he desired her, and all Minerva could manage was a whimper in response. Eventually, his pace became erratic, and she clutched at him as he groaned against her skin, teeth on the verge of biting. His grip was almost painful at both spots on her waist and thigh, and as he breathed noisily against her, their bodies warm, she carefully peeled his hands off.

"I'm not a prude," she whispered without thinking, her own breathing uneven as he slid out of her. An ache came in his absence, and he glanced up at her, his expression momentarily unreadable. He then smiled, cupped her face and gave her a quick kiss.

"I knew you weren't," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "You're just right, Minerva."

She ran a hand through her messy hair as he grabbed his shirt off the ground, fixing himself up in the process. At that moment, she wasn't exactly sure what to do with herself. She pushed her skirt down so that she was covered, but she continued to feel incredibly uncomfortable in the afterglow of lovemaking, her essays scattered around on the floor, underwear somewhere forgotten, and her neck covered in small indents from his teeth.

"I was thinking," he told her as he sauntered across to her bookshelf, "that we still have a full bottle of wine left. Care to finish it somewhere a little more comfortable?"

She cleared her throat, "Where were you thinking?"

"In a bedroom, preferably," he remarked, "though I wouldn't be opposed to a bath. What do you think?"

"I… suppose."

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly hurrying across the room to stand before her again, a hand on her cheek, "You aren't hurt, are you? I hadn't planned for the first time to be, well, in such a scandalous place. You'll have to forgive me."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, nodding a few times, "though I think I'll be sore in the morning."

He grinned, "I can guarantee you will. Come on… Your room is closer."

He shook the wine bottle a little, and then grasped her hand and pulled her off the desk, whisking her away from the scene of the crime to partake in another round.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**Sooo get ready for the longest author's notes thing ever. May as well be their own chapter. **

**Ack. **

**So, it took us 30 chapters, 118,505 words, and almost 200 reviews (OMGLOVE) to get to it, but we finally came to **_**that**_** scene. Hopefully I didn't disappoint. These types of scenes take me forever to write, and I spent several very long hours today forcing it out bit by bit. I can always picture exactly what I want, but then when it comes to writing it, hellooo weirdness in my head. Anyway. **

**As I've said before, Tom and sex is interesting to me. I don't think he's the End All and Be All of sex. No sex god here. No, I think he's a master at seduction and good at saying what he believes people want to here. However, when it comes to the actual act itself, I sort of pictured him as someone who is a little bit ordinary (not a lot ordinary, mind you, but just a tad more than he'd like, I'm sure). Sure, he'll have his own taste – which you'll see in later scenes – but otherwise I don't think he's the best thing since sliced bread. Enjoyable? Yes. But it takes time for people to get good at doing it together, and I'd like to build that a bit, just like I've done with their relationship. **

**I'll also let you decide if he put something in the wine or not. **

**And poor Wood. Good god, he makes me so sad to write. I just want to cradle him and tell him to stop being sad panda when it comes to Minerva. I do thoroughly enjoy comparing him to Tom though. From the way that Minerva reacted to their arrival tonight, to the Christmas gifts they got for her, and how they generally interact. It's interesting… to me, anyway. **

**ALSO. I recently reread some of **_**Chamber of Secrets**_**, and the Valentine's Day chapter was faaaantastic because of the mention of Minerva looking particularly displeased with Lockhart's decorations. It was such a win in my head, and therefore she hates Valentine's Day because of its pointlessness. **

**I also think the title of this one is really telling. I specifically wanted those lyrics to go with it. So. Yeay for matching.**

**As I mentioned above, I'm almost at 200 reviews for this story, and I have to thank you guys for being some of the most dedicated reviewers I've experienced here in quite some time. I always know who will review, even if it takes a little while, and I appreciate and devour everything like the greedy little writer I am. So, thank you for all the kindness and support – I'm glad you love this fic as much as I do. **


	31. But I will hold on hope

Minerva woke up sore. Now, she didn't want to call herself a prude, and based on last night's performance she certainly wasn't, but it had been quite some time since she had been repeatedly intimate with a man during a single night: years, in fact. When she felt herself coming to in the morning, her nether regions protested to the movement, but in a satisfied way. The pain, which was brief and passed quickly, was a reminder of the wonderful night she had had before. There was a warmth against her forehead, and she realized she was pressed against Tom's side, an arm thrown across his midsection. She hadn't had a comfortable night's sleep with him yet, one in which she didn't immediately leap out of bed once morning hit, and it was a wonderful change. She rolled over, taking a deep breath, and then blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

As she eyed the small window across the room, she frowned when she saw what absolutely terrible weather the castle was enduring. Apparently the storm hadn't been strong enough to wake her up, but the more she returned from the land of slumber, the more she realized how heavy the sleet was against her window pane. It was the sort of weather that made her want to stay in bed all day with a good book and a warm cup of tea. Minerva snuggled back beneath the covers, glaring at the awful day that awaited her. As she did, she felt Tom stir beside her; moments later, an arm curled around her waist, and she couldn't help but smile as he nestled up next to her.

This was so unlike Minerva… It wasn't like her to feel the slightest bit romantic first thing in the morning, and yet there were no bells going off in her head. She felt nothing but comfortable in Tom's arms, and for once her mind wasn't racing for a reason to kick him out. Instead, she wanted to stay there for as long as possible, entwining her fingers with his as she continued to watch the elements batter down on her window.

"What time is it?" Tom murmured groggily against the back of her head.

"I don't know," she replied, her clock on his side of the bed, "but it can't be much later than seven…"

He groaned softly, and she felt him tighten his grip around her. Mercifully, they had had the decency to put something on before bed. Even if it she had only grabbed a spare shirt and he had slipped into his briefs, she felt more comfortable now that there was some thin fabric between them. It seemed odd being flustered at the thought of their nakedness considering all they had done together the night before, but she wasn't about to change completely overnight.

"You know," he muttered. "I had a dream that I shaved your head-"

"What?" Minerva laughed, moving about so that she was on her back, his face resting in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

"I think there is just… so much of it," he continued, pulling on a clump of the dark auburn mass, "and deep down I really just want to get it out of my face when I sleep…"

"You're awful," she mused. "Well, I'll sleep with it tied up from now on, but I'm not cutting it."

"Well, no, I wouldn't want you to cut it," Tom told her, sounding a little more alert, "because what would I hold onto when we…"

He trailed off, kissing her neck soundly enough to make her giggle. It was very unlike her – very un-Minerva, and she was actually enjoying herself. It was actually quite pleasant not to be completely in her head that morning, not in a panic-mode now that they had woken up and she was bound to have bad breath and atrocious hair.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, nibbling on her ear just hard enough to bring her back to reality. She poked him on the chest in return, shooting him a bit of a chastising look. He grinned in return, propping himself up on his elbow, the other hand resting on her stomach, "What? Can't I inquire about your well-being?"

"You know what you did," she told him cheekily, her ear still stinging. "I'm fine."

"Just fine?"

"Excellent," she corrected, rolling her eyes a little. "Wonderful. Rejuvenated. You've made me a new woman, Tom Riddle!"

"Just as I suspected," he laughed as he leaned down and placed a kiss on her temple. "I've been known to do that… I suppose I should have warned you."

Minerva rolled her eyes again, this time dramatically so he could see, and then shifted their positions quickly. She sat up and pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips. He ran his hands over her legs, slim fingers digging into her bare skin as they moved, and she grinned down at him.

"Encore?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. Her cheeks tinted as his hands traveled up and under her shirt, skin prickling beneath his palms. They stopped just under her breasts, and normally she would have nudged him away, or perhaps removed herself from the situation entirely. However, this morning was different because _they_ were different. They had pushed themselves to a different place last night, and therefore she let his hands linger.

"I think…" she trailed off, leaning down so that she could kiss him. However, along the way she spotted the time out of the corner of her eye, which forced her to sit up abruptly, her face gone pale, "Oh, it's ten to nine."

"What?" he said quickly, sitting up a little to get a look at the round clock on her nightstand. "Well, that's wonderful isn't it? Suppose I won't be showering before class…"

She slid off of him and they left the bed on opposite sides, each fumbling around for clothes.

"Why are you rushing?" he asked as he slipped into his trousers, "Don't you have a free period?"

"Yes, but normally that free period involves me sitting at the back of your classroom taking notes," she reasoned.

She pulled the undershirt up and over her head, and then sheepishly handed it back to Tom, suddenly embarrassed by her nakedness while he was at least partially dressed. Minerva then ducked down and managed to produce her own undergarments from the array of scattered clothes, and quickly went about remedying her starkness.

"Oh, Minerva," he sighed as he continued to dress. "Do you want to know what I'm teaching today? The appropriate remedies for gnomes and doxy fairies… to second years. Do you really want to sit in and listen to me talk about that? I don't even want to listen to me talk about that…"

"Well, not particularly," she replied honestly, "but you know I… I really should…"

"Look, here's my alternative," he started, darting around the bed as he searched for a sock. She watched him, her hands on her hips, until he finally popped up and wrapped both arms around her, giving her a quick peck, "Why don't you just go back to bed? Get another half hour of sleep in before your class? I promise you'll like it more than my lesson…"

"I'm sure I would," Minerva agreed softly, "but you know I need to-"

"Does Dumbledore even read the reports you write?" he inquired as he pulled away, shooting her a bit of an annoyed look. "I mean, the ones that you don't draw on…"

Her cheeks tinted again; she thought she had been more subtle about not paying much attention in his classes anymore, but apparently there wasn't much that he missed.

"Tom…"

"Look, you've missed lessons before," he reasoned, "and after the night we had, I don't blame you for wanting to spend a little more time in bed…"

She was still hesitant, and he gave her another kiss, this time pressing his hand against the small of her back and hauling her in a little closer. Minerva squealed a little, her hands to his chest, but didn't exactly put up much of a fight.

"Relax," he urged when he finally pulled away. "I can't corrupt the minds of today's youth with a lecture on gnomes. Agreed?"

Minerva's lips went thin, her signal for defeat, and she nodded. Tom kissed her cheek one last time, which made her smile a little more. She watched as he checked himself over, and then quickly darted into the bathroom to no doubt freshen up before class. He looked dashing as ever, even though he had just woken up, and she was sure no one would have even noticed if he hadn't washed his face or brushed his teeth.

Just before he shut the door, she spotted Gus come crashing out of the room, making a beeline straight for her bed. She sighed as the cat scuttled beneath it, clearly displeased with his sleeping space being disrupted by someone he didn't seem to take to.

"Gus," she sighed, "you'll have to get used to him eventually."

A spiteful silence was his response from beneath her bed, and she clambered on top, opting to take Tom's suggestion and try to sleep for another half hour or so. Her next class began at ten, and if she could even get another twenty minutes in, she would feel more alert and still have time to get there looking proper. She curled up on her side in bed, listening to the rustling about in her en-suite, and then smiling as Tom reappeared, looking even fresher now than he had before. His eyes seemed a little bloodshot, but she chalked that up to lack of sleep.

"I'll come find you for lunch," he told her as he swooped down, grasping her hand and kissing it. She laughed and pushed his face away.

"Go, or you'll be late!"

"Yes, can't keep the twelve year olds from learning about gnome protection charms," he droned as he strolled toward her door. "Enjoy your nap!"

"Get out," she ordered playfully, kicking her foot out at him when he glanced back at her one last time over his shoulder. He shot her a playful smirk and then slipped out, leaving her in silence. Her smile lingered for quite some time afterward, and she lay across her bed, feet dangling over the sides, lost in her thoughts.

Last night had been wonderful. It was everything she hadn't expected from Tom, what with the wooing and romantic seduction, which made it a very pleasant surprise indeed. She ran her hands over her body, cheeks blushing when the tips of her fingers grazed a bruise or bite mark. She took nothing that he had done to her as malicious, but rather his way of expressing passion in the moment. It was a side of him that she had yet to see, and when she finally saw it, that gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction in his words, she realized that the way he acted with her was precisely how she expected him to be. He was dominant, sometimes aggressive, but never to the point where she felt uncomfortable or feared him. It was actually a little exhilarating to be with a man who knew what he wanted, and took it without any apologies.

Some women may have thought him to be a little too forward. After all, he moved without hesitation, and only after he did it did Tom ask if she was all right. She hardly thought he considered her feelings last, but he did attend to himself before her. However, that could be altered next time. Her smile grew. The thought of a next time was also new to her. Usually, in her previous relationships, sex was one of the last things she did with the man before they ended it. However, this happened so quickly at the start of their relationship, and the only thing she could see in their future was more: more of this, more of everything.

Now, did she want to marry him? The idea made her feel a little guilty, especially when she considered bringing him to her bed more often in the coming weeks. After all, good young ladies married the man they bedded. Yes, this might have been the tail end of the 1950s and things were changing, but one was still frowned upon for sleeping with a man with absolutely no intention of marrying him. However, she couldn't bring herself to decide anything like that with Tom. For now, she could see a future, especially if he lasted the year under Dumbledore's probation and returned to continue teaching.

How interesting would it be to have Tom here next year, and the years that followed? If that was the case, perhaps they wouldn't have to get married if they continued to be intimate. After all, they would be spending all their time together, and could perhaps even start sharing a room if their relationship went that far. No, if that was the way everything turned out, they wouldn't need to get married, as there would be no one else for them to be with, and besides, husband and wife were only titles. In her opinion, a man and a woman could spend their lives together without being married and still have all the validity that some other wedded couple had.

Lost in her musing, Minerva spent a little bit longer in bed than she intended, and hastily jumped out at twenty to ten. By then, Gus had crawled out from his hiding spot and resided now at the end of her bed. However, whenever she went to give him a pat, he moved just out of reach, his tail swishing back and forth dangerous. Honestly, the judgement from this damn cat was ridiculous sometimes. She didn't have time to tell him off, and instead opted to jump in the shower and give her body a rinse. The hair could wait, but after last night's events, she would have felt quite unclean for the remainder of the day if she didn't wash something.

After, she dressed quickly. She let her hair flow loose around her shoulders, but still swept half of it up so she wasn't completely casual. Even though she hadn't put any make-up on, her cheeks had a natural red tint to them today, and she assumed it came from her night with Tom. She ran her hands over her cheeks, trying to hide the evidence, but that seemed pointless, and she eventually conceded to the fact that she was going to look a little peppier today. To downplay her jovial expression, Minerva opted for a plain black dress, fitted to the waist and heavy in the skirts. There was a green tartan accent in it, but it could only be seen in certain lights.

When she finished, she paused briefly in front of her window, frowning at the weather. It hadn't gotten any better outside, and she was sure that Wood would have to cancel Quidditch practice if it kept up. Now, the boy would be against it, but she had had enough of sending the Chasers to see Poppy because they had gotten sick during a training session. The common cold was an easy fix, especially for such a trained healer, but she certainly didn't want to rely on the woman this much simply because Wood demanded they train harder.

Honestly, when would this weather let up? It was so depressing to think that they were barely halfway through the winter season and she was already sick of it. Shaking her head, she turned away and began gathering up her things. She had a lesson with her first years next, and the only thing she planned on doing was taking up a disastrous surprise test she had given last Friday. Their attention spans seemed somewhat limited as of late, and she wanted to ensure that they were still focusing on her lessons, particularly as this material was relevant to the exams in the spring. However, based on the marks they all received, it was quite clear that they were all somewhere else during her lectures.

She bid Gus a final farewell, to which the cat simply turned around and stared pointedly in the other direction. Honestly. With another roll of her eyes, she departed from her room and strolled through the familiar corridors to her classroom.

Normally, she liked to be in there at least twenty minutes early to get everything set up. However, at this rate she was going to arrive exactly when the lesson started. There was nothing to prepare, as she had all the tests in her hands, which meant she had gotten off easier that day. If she had started with her fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, as she normally did on Fridays, she would have been in a bit of bind, as they were working on transforming their textbooks into adequate pieces of clothing. That would require a little more setting up, and she certainly would have felt a little more stressed.

However, instead of panicking on her walk to her classroom, Minerva felt herself stroll with a confident stride. There was a bounce in her step, colour to her cheek, and a warm smile for whoever greeted her along the way. This wasn't like her, and she was sure people might start to wonder if she was delirious from some sort of fever. Alas, no, no fever of the sort. Instead, it felt as though she had a wonderful, terrible secret that no one else would ever be privy to. Oh, she may tell Pomona if the woman somehow guessed, but she wasn't going to bring it up on her own.

When she arrived at her classroom, she was surprised to find everyone seated, but they were still speaking as though they were out at the Quidditch Pitch. She shut when door noisily behind her, signalling the beginning of her lesson, and the conversation lowered to a dull roar as she marched to the front of the room.

"Your attention," she called, needing only to do it once as her students became silent. "These were terrible…" She held up a stack of papers for them to see, riddled in red ink, "It is clear that you cannot do anything yet unless I warn you in advance that there will be some sort of test. You never know when you will need to use your magic, and you should be prepared for anything. Therefore, we are going to spend this lesson taking up your abysmal performance…"

She noticed the faces of a few Ravenclaws fall, but if they had put as much effort into their class performance as they had their essays, they wouldn't be in this position. No one seemed especially impressed with her as she handed out the pathetic test results, and Minerva felt her glow from the morning diminish as they began taking up the answers. With some careful prodding, it seemed students were able to get some better answers out there, but it was only because she offered help. She wrote the correct answers on the chalkboard at the front, and made sure every single student had a chance to try to correct one of their poorer answers. By the end of the hour long lesson, everyone was exhausted, and she had never seen her first years dart out of the room so quickly.

Her next period consisted of a study hall session for a group of seventh years. All the professors had one, and it gave the older students a chance to catch up on whatever work they needed to. At this point in the year, Minerva gave her students a free rein to do whatever they wished during this hour. It was their time, after all, and if they wasted it doing nothing, they were the ones to blame. In a few months they would be out in the real world, and she wanted them to make adequate decisions for themselves. She usually had a few students littered around her room, occasionally working in pairs. Some of them were in her class, and some had dropped it already and she only knew from her study hall sessions. Regardless, they seemed pleased that she didn't actually do much interacting with them unless they initiated it. She was only there to monitor their behaviour, after all, and she wasn't going to be like Slughorn who wasted half of their time chatting.

Minerva smiled and greeted the few that did show up, pleased to have some semblance of intelligence in her classroom after her disastrous lesson with the first years. However, she soon resumed her work, opting to mark an essay on the history of human transfigurations by her sixth years. She had given that exact same essay in her first year of teaching, and she did it again because she had gotten such interesting and informative essays from a wide variety of thoughtful students. However, ten essays in and they all started to sound the same, and she had a sinking suspicion that some had been copied from older friends in order to get a good mark. She frowned when she found a thesis sentence that was almost word for word of one she had read previously, and decided she ought to speak to Dumbledore about this.

"Professor?"

She flinched a little as a voice penetrated her thought bubble, and she looked up quickly to see Evelyn Cross standing in front of her desk. The Slytherin girl smiled politely, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's quite all right, Miss Cross," Minerva remarked, setting the questionable essay to the side to deal with later. "What can I do for you? Not in the library today with Goyle and Henricks?"

The girl was a notorious flirt during these study hall sessions, and if Minerva had been the type to intervene, she would have broken up the ridiculous love triangle a long time ago to spare the feelings of those poor dolts who followed her around.

"No, they decided to spend their study hall in the Great Hall waiting for lunch," the girl droned, grabbing a nearby chair and pulling it up to the front of her desk. Minerva resisted the urge to frown; they certainly didn't have this kind of relationship, even as a student and professor. However, she wasn't about to turn someone away if they were attempting to make a connection.

"Well, each to their own, I suppose," Minerva mused as she set her quill down. "Did you have something on your mind?"

"Oh, yes," Evelyn began. She produced a thick roll of parchment and set it on Minerva's desk, "I'd like to apply for a position with the Ministry, and the man I spoke to told me I needed to write an essay about why I would be suited for that department."

"And which department did you have in mind?" Minerva inquired, eyeing the thick roll somewhat apprehensively.

"Transport," Evelyn told her, which made Minerva want to scoff. However, she managed to compose herself as the girl added, "I've always thought it was interesting. Plus, they always seem to be hiring."

"That's because no one stays there for long," she remarked without thinking. She quickly shut her mouth, and then smiled a little, "It is a wonderful department with very friendly people, but in my experience they tend to move on to different places quickly."

"Well, that's the plan," the girl told her brightly. "I just need an in."

"I should hope you haven't written that in your essay," Minerva commented dryly as she picked up the parchment. "Would you like me to read it?"

"Oh, yes, that's what I came to ask you for," Evelyn continued, leaning forward a tad. "I thought that since you've worked at the Ministry before, this would be a good fit… Can you just tell me if it'll get me an interview?"

Minerva pursed her lips at the girl's gumption, but nodded all the same, "I'll try to have it back to you by the end of the week."

"Excellent," the Slytherin told him, shooting her a smile. "Did you like working for the Ministry?"

"I… I liked it as much as anyone likes their job," she said carefully, unsure of why Evelyn lingered now that they had sorted out her essay issue. "I'm sure you will be happy with it."

"Did you always want to work for the Ministry?"

Minerva sighed, and then shook her head, "No. When I was in school, I wanted to be a Quidditch player… but we all have to grow up, don't we?"

"That's right," Evelyn said brightly. "You played for the Gryffindor team… I've seen your name on a plaque. Must have been quite a fun time… playing with all those boys."

Minerva quirked an eyebrow at the comment, but even more so at the look in Evelyn's eye, "Yes, we were a good team."

"I bet it made you really popular," the girl continued, "being the only girl on the team."

"I had an adequate group of friends," Minerva remarked quickly, slightly put off with the way the conversation was shaping up. "Evelyn-"

"You know that's not what I meant, Professor," the girl giggled, leaning a little closer and lowering her voice. "I meant you were probably very _popular_ with the boys on the team for-"

"That's quite enough," Minerva said sharply, her eyes narrowing at the outrageous girl in front of her. "This is highly inappropriate conversation to have with your professor, Miss Cross."

"You know what I find highly inappropriate?" the girl mused, clearly oblivious to Minerva's tone. "Relationships between professors, especially when they think they're being secretive."

Minerva felt her face whiten a little, but she managed to maintain a stony expression as the girl continued, "I mean, Slughorn and Sprout think they are so subtle, but really it's so blatantly obvious it's ridiculous. It makes us all uncomfortable… Don't you agree? I think professors ought to be celibate… It would help keep their focus where it should be… on us."

"What a nice opinion you have," Minerva said tightly. "I'll have your essay read by the end of the day. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, but-"

"Then I suppose you should make the best of your study hall," she continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. The girl shrugged her shoulders and then rose. She flashed Minerva what she no doubt perceived to be a winning grin, and then flounced off, disappearing out the door as though she hadn't a care in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**Hello my darlings! I'm so sorry that this update was so spaced out. After that last chapter, my muse basically shriveled up into a raisin and threatened to die. I don't know what happened, but I had no desire to work on this in the slightest. I said it in my profile, but I feel my Harry Potter muse and I are in a very long-term monogamous relationship (almost 8 years at this point), and that relationship has become a little stale. I'm expanding into other fandoms now, but I think that'll only help me not get sick of my usual stories. I'm not sick of this one, per say, but the muse felt a little stretched for a while there.  
><strong>

**I'm going to keep working on this no matter what, as it has been planned out and I know exactly what I'd like to do, but the updates might be a bit slower. Not slower than this – two months makes me die inside – but yeah, I'll do my best. **

**Someone also brought up my editing in reviews, and I think that they were absolutely right. I tend to heavily edit the dialogue and skim the rest of the story once I finish because I want to get it out. Therefore, I miss things, and I agree – that can absolutely ruin the flow of a story for you. From now on, I will be better with my editing. **

**I like writing a cute Tom and Minerva, but it kind of pains me… She's pretty happy, and I know he's being a huge jerk, so it brings conflict into my head. But then I wonder how much of it is an act for him, and how much of it is Tom letting his guard down for her. Hmm. Hmm, hmm, hmm. **

**Yeay for judgemental!Gus, and I think Evelyn knows **_**exactly**_** what she is talking about. Future drama on the horizon, so stay tuned!**

**Love, love, love for all my reviewers out there! We got over 200, and that's brilliant! These are the most thoughtful, sincere reviews I've ever gotten, and I do really appreciate them!**


	32. And I won't let you choke

The end of February was always a bit of an awkward time at school. Some students were still trying to live off of their Christmas vacation buzz, while the rest were knee-deep in winter blahs, and the remainder had decided it was time to zone out because spring was approaching, signalling the end of the year. Every single staff member seemed to experience the same thing in their lessons: unfocused, bored, lifeless students. Even Tom joined in on a big group rant in the staff room one evening, nodding along with Pomona and agreeing with Slughorn that it was getting to the point where he didn't even want to go to class. They were all stern, piled on the homework, and hoped for the best, but nothing seemed to be doing anything for the students who were in a bit of a slump. Even duelling attendance was down, much to Tom's irritation, and it seemed no one wanted to do much of anything during the dull final week of February.

Albus told her that it merely took one nice day in March to rouse everyone out of it, and Minerva hoped he was right. She was sick of looking at sloppy assignments and weak arguments in her essays. Speaking of essays… Minerva had done as she promised for Evelyn about a week ago; she read the application essay for the Ministry. It was quite boring, self-indulgent, and full of fabricated stories about Evelyn's teamwork and participation in yearly school events, but Minerva wasn't going to fault her for that. Many students beefed up their transcripts when they left Hogwarts, and clearly Evelyn was no different. She hadn't made any marks on it, as she was sure it was acceptable to mail to the department she desired whenever she wished. She kept it very professional and approached Evelyn while she was in the library surrounded by a mass of her friends; Minerva did not want to give her an opportunity to rekindle their previous discussion.

Minerva had informed Tom of what the girl had said regarding professors and their relationships, and the man merely scoffed and waved it off. Evelyn Cross, he told her, liked to push boundaries and buttons if she was given enough rope to do so, and she should simply be ignored if Minerva wanted her to go away. She took his word for it; after all, he seemed to spend the most time with the girl in the earlier part of the year while she was the duelling club's resident champion, so he clearly had a better insight into her behaviour than Minerva. However, Tom insisted that she bring it to his attention should Evelyn try to make her uncomfortable again, and he would see that she remember where the line between appropriate and inappropriate behaviour fell. She was pleased that Tom had taken her side in all this. She had expected him to call her irrational, but he seemed to understand the moment she said Evelyn's name that she was completely serious with her accusation.

Ever since their first night together, Minerva felt a comfort with Tom that she hadn't expected to experience. If someone had told her back in September that she was going to sleep with the man, and then spend almost every spare moment she had with him because she wanted to… Well, she would have told them to check into Mungo's for a neural examination of some sort.

Yet, here she was, spending her free periods catching up on all her work rather than monitoring his lessons so that when the evening came, she could spend a carefree night with him without worrying about her actual work. She hadn't slept with him since that night, as they had either been too tired or lacked the time, but it was fairly clear that there was going to be a repeat performance in the future. He hadn't pushed for it, but there had been at least two propositions this week for something more than petting and kissing, but Minerva had politely declined. Just because she had slept with him once didn't mean she had turned into some sex-crazed woman who wanted it every night. Luckily, he seemed to understand, but she could tell there was a hint of disappointment whenever she declined his offer.

Regardless, they seemed to have a wonderful time together with whatever they were doing. She always laughed at his snide comments in the staff room, and one night she even let him fill her plate for dinner because she was running late. For the one week that they had had prefect rounds together, they spent most of their alone time holding hands and chatting softly, earning them a few pot-shot jokes from some portraits. When she wasn't with him, she found herself wondering what he was up to. However, whenever that did happen, she firmly told herself not to turn into some lovesick idiot, and that usually got her off doing something else that did not have anything to do with Tom Riddle.

Only Pomona seemed to notice the new closeness. The woman cornered Minerva one night in her office, locked the door, and demanded to know every juicy detail of the encounter. She wasn't sure how Pomona figured out they had slept together, but when Minerva tried to deny it, the woman brushed it off and told her she wasn't stupid, nor was she blind. Apparently, they were being a little more obvious than Minerva had thought, and she made a note to tell Tom that they had to tune it down a little. However, with enough prodding, Minerva filled her friend in on a few select details of that night. Pomona was thrilled and insisted that they should go on a double date with her and Slughorn, but Minerva actually couldn't imagine anything worse. She had nothing against the other couple, but she certainly couldn't picture her and Tom spending the night watching as the other two fondled each other across the dinner table.

No, thank you. Unfortunately, her friend seemed quite intent on it, and Minerva told her she would give it a thought when they had a free night. Tom was less than impressed with the idea, as she suspected, but he told her he would put on a good show. It actually felt wonderful having a partner-in-crime around the castle, someone who was her own age and understand the pressures of being a new professor at such a prestigious school. She wouldn't say she was in love with Tom, but there were some strong feelings starting to develop, and she was excited – though inwardly, mind you – to see what was in their future.

In her own near future, Minerva had Quidditch practice that evening. They were supposed to have it earlier in the week, but one of her Chasers showed up an hour beforehand and told her that practice had been canceled until Friday night. At the time, she had assumed it was because of the weather. However, when she saw Roger in class the following day, she noticed he moped around a little more than usual, and assumed he was under the weather. She had tried to speak with him when the lecture finished, and perhaps send him down to see Poppy, but he disappeared with a group of friends while she was cleaning the mess his classmates had made, thus missing her chance. However, no one had come round to tell her tonight's practice was canceled, which meant Wood must have been feeling better and things were going to be back to normal.

Games had been canceled for the past several weeks due to poor weather, but once March hit she hoped that things would pick up and everyone would be able to get back into it. That might also pick up the school spirit; nothing rallied people more than a glorious Quidditch match on a Sunday afternoon in the sunlight. Therefore, they needed to get back into shape after a few slack practices and then nearly a week off, and Minerva had no intention of going easy on the Chasers tonight.

After dinner, she and Tom had drifted back to her room so she could get dressed for practice. He was less than impressed that she was spending her Friday night out in the blistering cold, despite the fact that he too would be busy with the duelling club.

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes," she insisted as she fixed her ponytail in the mirror. "We'll finish around the same time… I'll shower after practice-"

"Maybe _we_ can shower after practice," he suggested from her room, and she poked her head out, a smirk on her face. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she laughed, disappearing back in the bathroom to finish up her hair.

For once, Gus wasn't lurking behind the toilet. Instead, the large feline had darted under the bed once she and Tom arrived, and he had been there ever since. It wasn't much of an improvement, but occasionally she saw a set of whiskers sticking out from beneath her duvet cover, indicating his interest in the world outside the underside of the bed. Tom hardly seemed to notice the change, which wasn't necessarily surprising.

"Well, if you want to be around me when I come back all sweaty and horrible, I suppose that's your funeral," Minerva told him. She tightened her high ponytail once more, and then turned the light off in her bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her.

"Have you seen what those pants to do your body?" Tom inquired as she slipped on her thick Quidditch jumper, adding yet another layer to brace herself against the cold. "It's delicious."

She glanced down at her legs, not noticing much of a difference, and then shrugged. He was leaning back against her closet door, arms crossed, shirt unbuttoned and tie loosened. The way he looked at her, the hungry gleam she was now starting to recognize, made her stomach flutter excitedly, and she cleared her throat, opting to put on her boots instead. However, as soon as she turned around, she heard him cross the room softly, his body lining up behind hers, which made Minerva straighten up. As she did, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her snug to him.

"Tom…" she sighed, needing no further reasons not to drag herself out in the cold to fly around on a hard broomstick. "Stop that."

He responded by grasping the base of her ponytail and giving it a good tug, her head resting back against his shoulder. The movement shocked her a little, making her gasp, but she quickly closed her mouth and swallowed thickly, trying desperately to keep a serious expression on her face.

"Why should I stop?" he murmured, kissing a sensitive spot behind her ear. She felt her skin prickle at the contact, even beneath all her layers of clothing, and she suppressed a grin.

"Because you're making me late…"

He chuckled softly, and the hand that had been gripping her hip slid down between her thighs, grazing an even more sensitive spot in the process. She gasped his name again, scandalized, and grinned as he attempted to bring her into a mood. She couldn't deny that this was terribly exciting, but she had promised the team she would be there for a practice, and she wasn't about to throw away her word for a heated sexual encounter with Tom.

An idea struck her, and she managed to turn around in his grasp, moaning his name softly before pushing herself up on her toes to kiss him. He seemed momentarily taken by surprise as she wrapped her arms around his neck, passionately immersing herself in the kiss. It was always so wonderful to kiss him, so exciting, but she knew she could not lose focus. As his hands wandered her slim frame, she started to walk them back toward her bed, careful not to trip in the mass of feet. Minerva managed to slide her hands up to his chest, and once they reached her bed, she gave him a shove backward, forcing him down onto the bed.

He laid back, a smirk on his lips, and Minerva leaned down across his body, her hands holding her up on either side of his head. In turn, his own hands slithered along her torso, and he pushed himself up to kiss her. However, she pulled herself just far enough out of his reach, and then quirked an eyebrow.

"After practice," she told him firmly, and his eyes narrowed a little. She planted a quick, hard peck on his lips, and then darted out of the way before he could grab her. She snatched her boots off the floor, as she hadn't gotten the chance to put them on earlier, and then tucked her wand up her sleeve as she hurried passed her vanity.

"Minerva!"

"Lock the door on your way out," she trilled, shooting him a smile over her shoulder as she hurried out. She was fairly sure he was going to make her suffer for it later, particularly by the expression on his face, but she couldn't help but feel smug as she left. It was always a confidence booster to know that you had control over another person simply by using one's sexuality. It wasn't a power she used often, but she was pleased to see that it worked.

She paused in the hallway for only a moment to slip her Quidditch boots on, and then took one of the side exits from the castle in order to get out to the field faster. The wind was crisp and angry as she strolled across the grounds, further encouraging her to get back inside and simply crawl into bed with Tom. However, she knew that by now his pride would have healed enough for him to leave her room and get to his duelling club meeting, which meant she would have to wait until after to meet up with him. There was no turning back now.

Minerva dropped by the supply shed to grab her broom, which was still locked up in the same place she had left it. From there, she jogged over to the Quidditch pitch, mostly in an attempt to keep warm, and spotted the majority of her players already up in the air.

"Evening, Professor," one of the Beaters greeted as she strolled onto the pitch. She saw him and his partner performing some warm-up stretches, and she quickly surveyed the scene. Almost everyone was present, which made her frown a little.

"Where's Wood?" she inquired, noticing his absence almost immediately.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" the Beater inquired, pulling on a pair of gloves, "Dumbledore took him off for the rest of the year… Wouldn't tell us why, but he must have done something awful. We're trying to find a replacement now."

"When did this happen?" Minerva demanded, stunned that Albus hadn't told her he was removing one of her key players. Well, not that it was _her_ team or anything, but she was deeply invested in their success, and she couldn't picture that happening without Wood.

"This weekend," the fifth year remarked. "Wood's been really down about it all week…"

"I had… noticed something," she muttered. "Do you know where he is now?"

The boy pointed up toward the bleachers, and she spotted a lone figure huddled at the top, wrapped up in a blanket. It broke her heart not to see him down there with the rest of the team.

"He isn't allowed to talk to us while he's here," he explained. "I guess Dumbledore doesn't want him coaching still… We're trying to keep to his orders, and maybe he'll let Wood come back once we start playing again."

"I'll be sure to speak to the Headmaster," Minerva reassured them. "I don't know what Wood could have done to deserve this."

It was a cruel and unusual punishment, especially for a man who loved both Gryffindor and Quidditch, and Minerva was sure there had to be some other explanation for all this. She excused herself, leaving her broom down in the pitch itself as she darted up one of the narrow staircases. When she emerged from the top, she spotted Wood across the stands on one of the upper bleachers. He didn't look up from the team's practice as she approached, and she took a seat nearby, her hands resting in her lap. They sat in silence for a moment, and she sensed something had changed between them since the last time they were alone together when she rebuffed his Valentine's chocolate.

"Hi," he said finally, still not looking at her. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the tension floating between them.

"Why aren't you on the team anymore?" Minerva asked, figuring it would be better if they were direct with one another.

"You know why."

"No, I really don't," she remarked, turning herself so that she could face him. "What happened?"

"Look, we both know you talked to Dumbledore about the… the chocolates," he grumbled. "So let's just leave it at that."

She shook her head, and then lightly touched his arm, forcing him to glance up quickly, "Roger, I never went to Dumbledore… You were inappropriate, but I've kept that to myself."

"Well…" he trailed off, his face relaxing a little, "Well, someone told him. He called me into his office on Sunday and told me it needed to stop… I said I wasn't harassing you or anything, but I can't just… stop feeling like this. So, he said I couldn't play Quidditch until I promised I wouldn't talk to you about it again, and I said I couldn't promise that… So, here we are."

She sighed again, burying her face in her hands, "Oh, Wood…"

"I've been a bit short with you this week because I was upset," he admitted, shrugging when she looked up. "I didn't want to be, but every time I saw you I thought you had told on me… It was childish."

"I just don't understand how Albus could have found out…" Minerva trailed off, rethinking the events of that night. Most of them focused on her and Tom and what they had one repeatedly throughout the night. However, a thought flashed across her brain, and she realized what had happened, "Oh, Tom."

"Tom?" Wood repeated, adjusting his blanket a little, "As in… Professor Riddle?"

"I… No, I…" she fumbled about for her words, but she figured there was no sense in lying to him, especially since she was inadvertently the reason he could no longer play Quidditch. "I may have mentioned it in passing when he… stopped by for something. I was a little flustered after you left, and I just… let it out. I didn't think he'd go to anyone about it."

"I don't understand," Wood muttered, and she looked back at him, ready to explain that he wasn't to blame for this, but he cut her off. "He _told_ me to get the chocolates for you. Why would he rat me out to Dumbledore?"

She blinked back her surprise and cocked her head to the side, "What? He… He told you to buy me chocolates?"

"He overhead me and some friends discussing gifts for girls on Valentine's day, and that was his suggestion for me," Wood explained. "I thought he was trying to help me out."

"Yes, well," Minerva managed, concealing her anger beneath a cool exterior. "Apparently there are two men I need to discuss this with."

"I don't want you to go out of your way-"

"No, it isn't fair that you can't play Quidditch because of this," Minerva told him frankly. "Not to worry, I'll have this sorted for you before the season picks up again. Sit tight, Wood."

"Don't do anything out of your way," he called after her, but she was already storming through the bleachers, stomping her way down the stairs. How dare Tom do that to her? Why would he think it would be a good idea to encourage the boy, only to throw him to the wolves once he finished the deed? She needed to speak with him right now, before she lost her nerve.

Minerva barely felt the cold weather as she stalked back to the castle, slush and dirty snow sloshing all over the place as she marched inside. She heard the caretaker grumble for her to clean her boots off, but she barely paid him any attention; she had to focus her argument into a logical manner, otherwise she was going to snap at him irrationally, which wouldn't help her case.

As per usual, the Great Hall had been transformed into a dueling space, and there was an adequate size crowd of students there. She spotted Tom right in the thick of things, helping a defeated student down from the tables as the victory enjoyed a round of applause. She remained in the doorway, watching as he picked two new competitors to take their places on the make-shift stage, a grin on his lips as the students around him cheered; apparently this was a much anticipated duel, but she couldn't let him carry on without speaking with her first.

He managed to get himself out of the group, and when he glanced up, he spotted her in the doorway. His grin grew, and he jogged toward her.

"Practice called off on account of the weather?" he inquired, glancing down at her boots. "Come on… We've been waiting to duel this pair for about a month now-"

"Did you tell Albus about Roger?" she asked, continuing her stance on being as direct as possible. His expression seemed to falter for a moment, and he urged her to step outside of the hall.

"Well, yes," he replied, crossing his arms as they stood at a casual distance from one another outside the Great Hall, "but only because I thought it would make him stop harassing you."

"He was never harassing me-"

"Really?" the man snapped, eyebrows shooting up, "Because you made it sound like he was being too forward, and I thought it was my place to step up and do something for you."

"I am perfectly capable of handling myself," Minerva told him, her eyes narrowing a little. "You had no right to bring that to Albus. It was my personal business, and you've ruined Wood's year, as he's been suspended from Quidditch."

"I guess he shouldn't harass his professors then," Tom remarked, which made her glare.

"You told him to get me chocolates!"

"I did no such thing," he argued. "Don't be absurd, Minerva."

"He has no reason to lie to me," Minerva said pointedly.

"And I do?"

"Tom!"

"All right, all right, fine," he ground out irritably. "I overheard them discussing dates and Valentine's treats for their girls, and I offered my opinion. I had no idea the idiot was talking about you!"

"After everything I've told you about him and I?" Minerva scoffed, "You had to have some inkling."

"I'm sorry for trying to help a boy please someone who I thought was his age," Tom sneered. "I don't understand why I'm getting in trouble for this!"

"You took something I told you in _private_ to someone else," she told him, finally realizing why she was so cross with him. "How many times have I kept something you've done to myself?"

"That's not fair-"

"No, what isn't fair is that you've ruined Wood's final year by tattling."

"Oh, grow up, Minerva," he snapped. "Quidditch isn't everything, and he'll get over it. I repeat… It's his own bloody fault for being so forward with you, and Albus has _finally _made a good decision for dealing with him!"

Minerva let out a huff, hating the logic in his argument, and then glared at him, "Don't come see me after your little club meeting."

"Fine," he hissed before turning back and storming into the Great Hall.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**I KNOW. Such a quick update! I got bit with the bug again, so I think I might be back on track for this series. **

**I do love me some Voldemort/Minerva fighting. I think it's so exciting, and the muse lurves it. Obviously they don't, and this one was fun to write because I could see both of their points. We all KNOW Tom did it to be an asshole and ruin Roger's chances with Minerva, but he'll never admit that to her!**

**Much love to all my reviews! Thanks for all the support!**


	33. On the noose around your neck

Voldemort hated to apologize. He hated it more than pretending to smile and laugh at jokes, or defer to someone else's expertise on a matter he may not feel as strongly about. To apologize meant to admit, in the eyes of the other person, that he was wrong, and he hated to have anyone think he was wrong. Even in situations where he might have been at fault, he wasn't about to swallow his pride and admit to it. He had never been that type of person, and now that he had a following at his back, he wasn't about to become that for anyone. In this situation, Minerva had been hopelessly correct, of course, but as usual, he wasn't going to blatantly let her know it. _Yes_, he would have to concede a little eventually, but he was going to hate every bloody moment of it.

Things had been going so swimmingly too until that fucking simpleton Wood had to ruin it for him. As he suspected, Minerva's tough outer exterior cracked once she let her Tom in fully, and in a short period of time, she had missed four of his lessons. Two of those lessons had been with students at the right age to join his cause, but he hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity yet. Apparently, all it took was one loose set of lips and Minerva's hackles shot up like the feline that lurked within her. He wanted to lecture them about the declining standards of the Ministry, about the lessons that his dark predecessor had to teach, and the finer points of forbidden magic. There were so many ripe minds ready to be intrigued, ready for just one convincing speech to bring them to him, to surrender to his cause. However, he had to be patient a little while longer. Minerva may have let her guard down, but Dumbledore certainly hadn't.

The older man had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times; occasionally, he would drop by while Voldemort and Minerva were having a private evening in one of their offices, and other times Albus would escort him from one place to the next in the castle, always seemingly content to talk nothing but air until it was time for Voldemort to leave. However, for all the old man's surveillance, he was still unaware of Evelyn's unwavering, jealous devotion to Voldemort, or Drake's tutelage in his office late in the night. He hadn't realized the many of the members of his duelling club were under the impression their performance would be directed to the Dark Lord if they were good enough. He didn't seem to realize the majority of the students there were from Voldemort's old house, letters from their parents insisting they perform well for the representative of the Pureblood Cause.

Dumbledore also didn't realize how much Minerva fancied her Tom. She skipped lessons that she was supposed to monitor and preferred to spend her free time with him. Oh, she would pretend like she didn't, like she wasn't excited to see him at the end of a long day with bratty children, but Voldemort knew she was. He hadn't tried to penetrate too deeply into her mind, as she was bound to have some sort of defense system against invasions under Dumbledore's teaching, but Voldemort didn't need to. He didn't need to pry into the fundamentals of her person because she was so plain to read on the outside: fluttering eyelashes, blushing, and a soft giggle whenever he kissed her neck. He thought she may have been a little harder to crack, but that was one thing he was pleased to be wrong about.

Everything else was a different story, and he had though Minerva would have taken his side over the whole Wood debacle, or at least seen that she was being a little ridiculous for losing her temper on him. After all, Wood was the one who had been inappropriate; if Voldemort suggested Wood cheat on an exam and he did, and was thus caught, it would be Wood who suffered for his crime, as he was stupid enough to commit it. Wood had taken his kind suggestion with no coercion or pressure – why should Voldemort pay the price for his stupidity? In actuality, it should have been Minerva apologizing to him for her anger, not the other way around.

Unfortunately, Voldemort knew that he couldn't let this carry on for too long, lest all the progress they had made over the past month be undone. So, he would apologize first, and he would hate every bloody moment of it. It was Sunday night, and for two days she had completely ignored him, holed up in her room like some hermit with her ridiculous cat. Their routine had been shattered, and he felt on edge the entire time. When they fought, she stated that she had kept things to herself about him, which irked him, but also made him realize that with one wrong move on his part, she could go to Dumbledore and fill him in on every bad feeling or worry she had regarding her Tom. He couldn't have that. There were young minds ready to turn, and a creature in the bowels of the castle that he needed to tend to; there could be no room for error.

So, Voldemort straightened himself out sometime around nine and left his office, moving swift as a shadow through the castle until he found his way to Minerva's room. However, her damn portrait was ruder than usual, insisting that he wasn't allowed in. Now, he knew Minerva had given that fat tub of a witch specific instructions to allow Tom access to her room, which meant if she wasn't, Minerva must not be in. She normally wasn't one to frequent the staff room this late at night, preferring to work in her room or her office if she was still doing something academic at this hour on a Sunday. With that conclusion in mind, Voldemort stormed away from the portrait, vowing to hex it into oblivion when he was finished with this school, and made his way to her office.

The door was open just a crack, and he peered through before knocking. Sure enough, he could see her seated at her desk in front of the window, her back to the door, a quill in hand. She was the diligent one, he had to give her that. He raised his fist and knocked twice, and then slipped inside without waiting for an answer. Minerva turned back in her chair just as he shut the door behind him.

"I thought we should talk," he told her, his voice even and calm. The candlelight flickered across her stern expression, highlighting every irritated line on her face, and she turned back to her work without giving him an answer.

He sighed, and then cracked his neck noisily, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible. Didn't she understand how much he hated to grovel? Couldn't she see that she was wrong here and he was the bigger person?

"Minerva."

No response. His jaw clenched as he crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides. She continued to write as though he wasn't even there: so childish. For a moment or so, he watched the edge of her quill bouncing along as she wrote a note on the side of an assignment, until finally he wanted nothing more than to shred it. So, he reached down around her and caught her by the wrist, bringing it up just enough so that the tip of her quill couldn't reach the paper.

"I don't want to talk about it," she told him, sucking in her cheeks with displeasure as her spare hand tightened into a fist. "Just go, Tom."

"No," he whispered, tucking her loose hair back behind her shoulder – an attempt at intimacy. "I wanted to apologize. You were right… about everything."

"Oh?" she said stiffly, her wrist straining against his hand. "And what was I right about, exactly?"

Did she realize that if he applied the correct amount of pressure, he could have broken her wrist? It was so slim, so much like a young branch, that if he turned sharply enough, correctly, she would be howling in pain at her desk, mortified at his actions.

"I should have… realized what Wood planned to do," he ground out, his eye twitching a little. "It was my fault."

"And?"

"_And_," he forced out, "I shouldn't have taken it to Dumbledore."

There wasn't anything else she could have wanted from him. If she did, she certainly wasn't going to get it. However, mercifully enough, she dropped her quill and finally turned to look at him, a small smile on her lips. Her hand was warm when she placed it against his cheek, and he smirked inwardly when she leaned up to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

"I know you only thought you were doing the right thing," she murmured, her head tilted back, lips still millimetres from his, "and I forgive you."

"I'm glad."

He smiled at her, his lips stretched too far up across his teeth, which turned it into a snarl more than anything. She barely seemed to notice, instead looking back at the work scattered across her small desk. Voldemort couldn't bring himself to talk to her about anything else. He merely wanted to get up and leave now that the task had been finished, but that felt inconsiderate based on her quick forgiveness. If he walked away now, she would assume something else was wrong (and rightly so), which meant there would be a great deal more talking. He couldn't stand to talk to her about anything right now. He had never crawled over so much glass for anyone in his life, and here she was, ready to forgive him once he mustered up the proper wording.

She had no right to forgive him. She was many things, this Minerva McGonagall, but she had no damn right to dictate when he ought to apologize: no one did. So, when he saw her take in a small breath of air, no doubt ready to launch into some speech about something or another, he wove his hand through her hair and turned her head sharply to the side, cutting off her rant with a harsh kiss. She clearly hadn't been expecting it, eyes wide and mouth fumbling to keep up with him, but he couldn't listen to her talk anymore. This seemed like the easiest solution to his issue.

Voldemort pulled her up by her hair, their lips still meshed in a heated dance that he had come to enjoy, his free arm curving around her slim frame to move her along. Her own hands clutched at his chest, tugging on his shirt as she kissed back, her breathing heavy. He had her back against the wall quickly, holding her up when she tripped a little in the flourish of movement. His hands went down to her ridiculously thick skirt, tugging it up as his lips made short-work on her neck, nipping at the delicate pale flesh with some relish.

"T-Tom," she stammered, weakly pushing at him, "I don't think we should tonight."

He brought himself up again; her skirt hitched up to her waist, his own arousal ever present, forehead pressed to hers, "I wasn't asking you if we should."

She squealed a little when he kissed her again, but hardly put up much of a fight when he slipped his fingers beneath her sensible undergarments, grinning against her skin at the excited signs of consent. This was what he enjoyed; Voldemort enjoyed the dominance of an assertive woman far more than the actual sex itself. She was good enough, yes, and as a man he couldn't deny that there was a physicality to the act that drove him to seek it again. However, it was this moment, her unsure of it, hesitant, until he finally had her… Well, that was what he thoroughly enjoyed about all this.

He moved quickly, pushing her undergarments aside and shimmying out of his trousers without much help from her. The woman beneath him whispered his false name once more, but he ignored her, pushing up and filling her with one swift movement as he had done before. He winced when she nearly ripped out a clump of his hair, a cry tumbling from her lips. Good. He wanted to hurt her. He moved sharply, thrusting up against her as harshly as he could. She may have taken it as passion, desire, need, but Voldemort savoured every flinch, every whimper, every tremble of her lip. Minerva gasped softly, but she never told him to stop. She never told him to slow down, ease up, and Voldemort took her leeway and ran with it.

Before he realized what he was doing, a hand had slithered up to her neck. It must have been a subconscious movement, but he went with it all the same, tightening his fingers around her windpipe. Her eyes widened, and he listened to her breathing grow ragged, her hands tugging at his.

"You have no idea…"

How lucky you are. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that if they had been in the real world, and he was Lord Voldemort and she only Minerva McGonagall, he would have tortured her smug little self into oblivion months ago.

He slowly loosened his grip when he saw her face start to change colour, and she gasped for air as he pressed his mouth near to ear, "…what you do to me."

It was a half-truth; she had no realization of exactly what sorts of emotions she stirred in him. She would never understand, just as he was sure he wouldn't, the hatred and the desire that he felt for her at obscure times, sometimes in tandem. She ought to be punished for her transgressions.

She cried his name again, but this time it was different. It felt different. The woman clung to him, her eyes clenched closed, head thrown back, and he realized she came shortly after he choked her. Oh, she really was delicious – horrible, awful, despicable, but utterly delicious. Her limbs slackened a little as she clutched at him, and he decided if she had finished, there was no need for the charade to carry on much longer. No need for the forced intimacy if she had raced ahead without him. He kissed her roughly, slamming his hips against hers until his pace became erratic, losing himself for a brief moment of his own.

Relaxation gnawed at him, and he finally loosened his grip on her. They stayed like that for a minute or so, him breathing in the scent of her flushed skin, her absently massaging his scalp.

"Come to bed with me?" she murmured finally. He took a deep breath, calming his breathing as she fixed her skirt and buckled his trousers. In that brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with her and spend the night wrapped around her smooth body. However, on the other side of that awful coin, he couldn't stand the thought of it.

"Of course," he murmured. Heads won. It was better for the relationship to come with her; she had been punished enough for today.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**I've wanted to do a pissed off Voldemort chapter for a long time now. We've seen his irritation before, but never rage, which I think was where this started. Hopefully that came across… I like his inner turmoil. I have a feeling he doesn't even really understand what or how he feels about Minerva, and I can see that as being quite a huge source of frustration for him. **

**Much love to all my reviewers and subscribers! You guys make my day with your feedback! **


	34. And I'll find strength in pain

Minerva wasn't particularly sure how much she enjoyed Tom's brand of sexual preferences. Oh, it could be terribly exciting sometimes, yes, but other times… well, other times it simply hurt. She hadn't ever been too out there sexually, but then again, who was? For some reason, she couldn't picture anybody that she knew engaging in anything that magazines labelled 'kink': not that it was something anyone would ever talk over openly, mind you. There were no discussions at dinner parties, nor did women gossip much further than the basics when they were together. She was fairly sure men were even less inclined to chat about their sex lives with other men, which meant that no one had any idea about what anyone else was doing, and apparently that was the way things were going to stay. So, were Tom's desires to bite a little too hard, or close off her windpipe just a little as he took her abnormal? Was it abnormal that she enjoyed some aspects of it?

Sometimes, she was thrilled with having someone else dominate her. In no other situation would Minerva McGonagall ever consent to such treatment, and yet with Tom, when they were at their most intimate, she felt no hesitation with it. At this point, despite the odd deception here and there, she felt a sense of trust with Tom that was difficult to explain, but quite easy to feel. So, if that meant opening herself up a little sexually, giving him whatever made him happy, she was willing to do it. In fact, their most recent session in her office was evidence of just how much he could thrill her with his touch, with words, with a look. With him, Minerva knew she was vulnerable, and as much as that frightened her, the fear certainly wasn't strong enough to keep her away from him or his sexual urges.

However, if he choked in such a manner again, she may have to have some sort of serious conversation with him. She ran a slim finger over her neck, wondering if, by morning's light, there would be a bruise. Tom hardly seemed concerned over it, but he had been rather quiet since they crawled into her bed about an hour ago. He seemed preoccupied, and assumed the usual position of stroking her hair as she curled against his chest, arms tucked neatly between them. Their breathing was in tandem, and despite the hour, she felt no inclination to sleep. Gus lurked nearby, curled up atop her spare chair with one of her sweaters. For now, he gave no indication that he planned to run at Tom's presence, but he gave her an especially frosty reception when the pair returned, and hadn't acknowledged her since.

"How was your duelling club meeting?" Minerva asked finally, her eyes traveling the length of his torso before glancing up at his face. A nearby candle flickered, casting shadows under his eyes, eyes fixed on a spot across the room. "Tom?"

"Yes?" he whispered, blinking a few times before running his fingers through her hair with a little more force, as though finally aware of what he was doing. She raised her eyebrows, knowing full well that he had heard her, and he cleared his throat, "It was fine. The final round ended when Gretta Finch lost her wand."

"That's a shame," she admitted, imagining the horrified look on that smug Slytherin girl's face when her opponent removed her of her weapon.

"It's pathetic," he spat, rolling his eyes when she looked up at him. "Unable to go on simply because her wand was taken from her…"

"Well, you can hardly expect much more from a student," Minerva argued, sitting up a little, her hand flat against his chest. "After all, we don't really delve as much into wandless magic-"

"As we should do."

"Because we aren't supposed to," she finished pointedly. He sighed a sigh that usually indicated the start of an annoyed mood, so Minerva decided it wasn't worth the argument. Instead, she pushed herself forward a little and kissed him, and then brought her head down to rest on his chest, "Tell me, what would you have done if you lost your wand in a fight?"

"I wouldn't lose my wand," Tom argued, shifting his arm so that it curled around her body, fingers trailing along her back. "I wouldn't be so careless, or so stupid."

"Mistakes happen," Minerva insisted, "even to the smartest of wizards. Now, tell me… What would you do?"

"Well," he droned, tapping a spot along her spine for a moment, "if I was idiotic enough to lose my only physical weapon in a duel, I would switch to wandless magic."

"Is that another field you find yourself skilled in?" Minerva mused, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm better than most, yes."

"If you don't say so yourself."

"There is nothing wrong with admitting to something that you are talented at," Tom told her. "It's hardly boasting when it's the truth."

"All right, all right," she groaned, not wishing to pad his ego further. "So you're able to confidently perform wandless magic. Where would you go from there? It's much faster to defend yourself with a wand."

"I wouldn't need to defend myself," he murmured. "I'd have them on their knees with one spell."

"Oh?"

"Oh indeed, my dear," he purred, smoothing his hand down her back before kneading at the base of it. "You see, I'd simply use the Imperius Curse and have my attacker under my will. From there, the victory would be simple."

Minerva frowned, almost disbelieving what she had heard; he would use an Unforgivable in order to win some silly duel? Even if it were a dangerous situation out on the street, she would have thought he had an entire arsenal of tricks up his sleeve that he could use before delving into the Unforgivables. Was that what he was teaching his students when she wasn't around to police him?

"Tom," she murmured, nudging his arm away and pushing herself up into a seated position. "You cannot possibly think that is the easy fix in that situation. An Unforgivable shouldn't be your end-all in that instance."

"And why not?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up curiously as he tucked his hands behind his head, resting back against her pillow. "Just because the Ministry deems them to be unforgivable, why shouldn't I be allowed to use a spell I'm excellent at in a life or death situation?"

"With your calibre of dueling, I hardly think your life would be in danger just because your wand is gone," Minerva argued, which made him grin deviously.

"Oh, Minerva, you know how to flatter me."

"Be serious, Tom," she insisted as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "The Imperius Curse isn't something you ought to use lightly."

"It really is a lovely spell," Tom mused, pursing his lips a little. "I've heard that those under it are in complete serenity if their caster is competent enough."

"Oh, you've _heard_, have you?" she asked skeptically.

"Come now, don't put yourself on that high horse just yet," he said lightly, his eyes alight from a nearby candle as he surveyed her. "You cannot tell me you've never cast any sort of spell that would be considered dangerous to another person… Everyone has and everyone will, but not everyone can admit to the merit behind it."

"How philosophical of you," she sneered, rolling her eyes a little.

"Haven't you ever wanted to try one of them?" he asked, and she knew exactly which _them_ he happened to be referring to. She frowned, her lips in a thin line as she glared at the wall.

"Of course not," Minerva responded, not wanting to give him the impression that she may have thought about it for longer than necessary. "I can understand why they exist. I can accept that we should know them, in theory, in order to advance magically. However, I have never had the desire to perform one on another person."

"I think you're a liar."

"How dare you?" Minerva asked sharply, her glare turning to him. "Just because we do not all have some inner desire to dominate another person does not make me a liar."

"So touchy tonight," he laughed, reaching out to stroke her arm. "I'm only teasing."

"All of your teasing has a small hint of truth to it," she muttered. He smirked a little.

"Tense, tense, tense," he tutted as he finally sat up and took her by the shoulders. "Come here."

She was hesitant for the contact, but she eventually scooted over so that she was seated between his legs, and he then commenced massaging her shoulders. Minerva wanted to stay irritated at him, but the rhythmic movement of his strong fingers along her body was more than enough to make her forgive him.

"Now tell me," he whispered in her ear, skin prickling at his breath along her neck. "Wouldn't you like to know what it feels like to totally surrender to someone…? To feel that complete and utter serenity that the supposedly unforgivable part of magic can give?"

"Why would I need to when I've got you doing this?" Minerva inquired, a small smile on her lips as she closed her eyes.

"I'm being serious, Minerva."

"Oh? _Now_ you're serious?" she mused, "Why the sudden serious interest in the Imperius Curse?"

He was silent for a moment, and Minerva wondered if she might have finally gotten him of the conversation topic by pointing out his sudden interest. However, when he spoke again, it was fairly obvious that this discussion was far from over.

"I've always wanted to use that specific spell… in the bedroom."

Her eyes shot open, and although he continued to massage her, she no longer felt the same relaxation as before. She cleared her throat, her usual frown back in place, and then inquired, "Why?"

"Well, why not?" he chuckled, planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. "Can't you imagine it? Someone with you who could do every little thing you wanted…"

"Yes, but," Minerva sputtered as one of his hands curved around her front, coming to rest on her thigh, "couldn't you simply ask them to do it?"

"Ask them?"

"Precisely," she continued. "Shouldn't a… a lover be willing to make their partner happy?"

"Well, yes-"

"Then, in theory, if you ask them to do something that would satisfy your… desires," Minerva theorized, hoping to deter any future thoughts of Unforgivables in the bedroom, "then they should do it, at least once."

"Well, that's a plausible theory," he agreed, "but what if that person does not share your specific sexual appetite? What then? Should they not enjoy themselves at your expense?"

"If they weren't enjoying themselves, I suppose that would defeat the purpose-"

"Exactly," he cooed, tightening his grip around her midsection as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Under the curse, you are in a state of bliss… You'll do anything, and be more than happy while you're doing it. In bed, that would be beneficial for both partners, don't you agree?"

"I can see your… point," Minerva managed, still tense at the contact, "but I hardly think being under a curse that's been banned for centuries would be comfortable."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he whispered, taking both of her hands in his and giving them a squeeze. "I've been told it's bliss."

"Not something you know from your own experiences?"

"No," he murmured, "but I've never had any complaints."

She blinked back her surprise, even though that little voice at the back of her mind told her this shouldn't be anything new; of course Tom had performed the curse before, and frequently, it seems. She turned her head to the side, feeling his lips press to her cheek, and she sighed, "Tom…"

"You could try it," he told you. "I could prove to you just how blissful the curse is."

"I don't think-"

"Don't you trust me, Minerva?" he purred as he brought his hand up to take hold of her chin. "After everything we have been through this year… Don't you trust me?"

"It isn't about trust," she argued weakly, unable to meet his eye. "It's an Unforgivable, Tom."

"Broaden your magic," the man urged softly. "Let me show you what else our world has to offer…"

"Maybe sometime," she stammered, "but not tonight."

"No, tonight," Tom insisted. "Now."

"Tom-"

"Minerva, I would never hurt you," he told her, squeezing her once more to emphasize his point. "I have very fond affections for you… I only want to show you all the good that could come from this."

Did she trust him? Minerva liked to think that she did have a great deal of faith in Tom. If she hadn't, there was no way she would have let him into her bed repeatedly. The fact that she willingly let him in should have been a sign of the development of a trust that ran deeper than that of her friends or colleagues. This was something different, wasn't it? In this moment, him wrapped around her, in the arms of a man who months ago she would have happily handed over to Dumbledore at the slightest hint of trickery… This very instant had to be a sign that things had changed.

He rarely spoke about how he felt about her. Now, that wasn't out of the ordinary, as she knew most men weren't about to openly express feelings of affection or love, but he had _deep_ affections, apparently. Tom may have still been a little difficult to read sometimes, but there was this sincerity in his voice, this look in his eyes, that made Minerva genuinely think he did care about her.

"So?" he whispered as she sunk further and further into her own thoughts, "What do you say? Will you let me show you this? Can I give you complete peace, Minerva?"

She opened her lips, ready to protest one last time, but then finally gave in with a nod. She did trust him. She knew he wasn't going to go out of his way to hurt her, and by his level of magic and intelligence, she also knew he wasn't a novice with the spell.

Tom smiled at her, a wide grin that showed his teeth, and the inched around her so that he was seated at her side. He then placed a hand on her chest delicately and pushed down, urging her to lay back and relax.

"Take a few calming breaths," he suggested. "You should be completely open to me."

"I am," she told him, her hands resting delicately on her stomach, feeling the rise and fall with each breath she took. Tom leaned over her, his hand still against her chest, and his gaze met hers.

"_Imperio_."

The effects of the magic were almost instant, and Minerva let out a soft puff of air in response. It felt as though she no longer had any limbs. She could physically see them, and in her mind she knew they were there, but they felt light as air attached to her frame. There were no panicky thoughts, no worries, no stresses about anything in this world anymore. She felt her lips curve into a smile, one of contentment, bliss, just as Tom had promised, and her eyes rolled upward, shutting without really feeling as though she shut them.

"Minerva."

She heard Tom's voice, but it sounded quite far away, very breathy and light in her sea of comfort.

"Open your eyes."

The command was difficult to ignore, and her eyelids flickered open within seconds.

"Tell me how you feel."

"Wonderful," she replied automatically. "The world is gone in here."

"I know it is," Tom murmured, leaning down to run his tongue along her neck. "Sit up."

It was so easy to do as she was told in this world. There was no second guessing herself, no questioning of any motives. Instead, when he told her to do something, she did it, and Minerva saw nothing wrong with it in here.

"Give me a kiss, Minerva."

She leaned forward, planting a kiss against his thin lips without hesitation or restraint. Even though her lips touched his heatedly, she barely felt any of it at all: not the hand in her hair or the teeth biting at her lower lip. Nothing.

"I could make you do just about anything right now, couldn't I?" he murmured against her lips, a hand to her throat as he held her at a close distance from his own face.

"Yes," she whispered in response, a placid smile still on her lips.

He chuckled darkly, and then pressed his lips next to her ear, "Tell me, Minerva… How long have you been an animagus?"

"Since I finished school," she responded plainly.

"And what do you turn into?" he asked, "Tell me, Minerva."

"A cat."

"And tell me," he continued, his fingers digging into the base of her neck, "did that cat snoop around in my office earlier this year?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She blinked a few times, unwilling to say anything more unless it was a direct command. It felt unnecessary and foolish.

"Tell me why, Minerva."

"I was looking for something."

"What? Tell me."

"Anything," she admitted honestly. "Anything I could find."

Suddenly, the connection was broken. All of her previous worries, anxieties, and hang-ups came flooding back to her mind with such ferocity that she gasped, shoving Tom's hand away as reality returned. She pushed herself back across the bed, her breathing ragged, eyes a little watery. Every part of her body felt very apparent, so real and physical, and she could feel her neck throb under what she perceived as being pressure from him.

Most of all, she couldn't believe she had just admitted to prowling through Tom's office earlier in the year disguised as her feline counterpart.

"How long have you known?" she demanded, swallowing back her nerves as he studied her sternly from across the bed. Had that been the whole point of this? Was casting the Imperius Curse easier than brewing a Truth Potion?

"I had my suspicions when I investigated my desk after I threw you out," he informed her. He crawled toward her, and Minerva felt herself grow very small against the headrest of her bed as he inched closer. Finally, he reached out and gripped her by the neck one last time, shaking her a little, "_None_ of that ever again."

She nodded, momentarily thrown by the look in his eye, and her voice faltered slightly when she spoke, "No. Never again."

Her brain felt completely addled, and she couldn't think of anything to say other than to agree with him. Tom grinned at her, that same dangerous look lingering in his eye, and then curved his hand up to delicately cup her cheek, "Good girl."

Minerva whimpered a little when he kissed her, a biting kiss that left no room for argument or reasoning; she vaguely heard Gus leap off his chair and scamper into the bathroom, hissing as he went.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**I actually wasn't really too sure what was going to happen when I started this chapter. I had a vague idea, and I'm moderately pleased with the outcome. I think there was something Voldemort saw in Minerva tonight that he actually liked more than normal, so we'll go a little further into that in his next POV chapter. **

**I'm sorry for the lag between updates. My muse is with some of my new stories, but I've gone and put a bunch of stories on a temporary hiatus, but **_**Warwick Avenue**_** is NOT one of them, so updates will be slow and steady, but not stopped completely in the slightest bit. Hurray!**

**Much love to all my supporters, subscribers, followers (newfangled feature), and reviewers! I totally stalk all of your profiles for some creep action whenever I get a message that you've done something with my stuff, so know I'm lurking. Looovee! **


	35. And I will change my ways

Minerva had been on edge lately. Ever since Tom demonstrated his ability to invade her mind and control it, she felt as though some sort of trust had been violated. He was a talented wizard, and a talented man, but the fact that he could now control her whenever he wished was unnerving. There hadn't been a repeat of an Unforgivable Curse between them while they had been alone, but Minerva guessed it was only because she had been going out of her way to keep him happy. It certainly wasn't a way to manage a relationship, but she figured it might be a temporary necessity until she knew for certain that any ideas about mind control were firmly kept out of the bedroom – and elsewhere, for that matter. Minerva become compliant to any requests he might make sexually, though she kept her demeanour outside the bedroom relatively unchanged. However, when the desire to argue with him arose, she bit her tongue, and instead waited; Minerva wanted to know that she would be absolutely safe from any sort of mind penetration.

There was trust there, yes. She trusted him enough to come into her bed, and she now trusted him enough not to monitor his lessons, though only after he showed her his lecture outlines for the classes she was designated to. However, there was still the occasional moment where she panicked silently under the look he gave her, particularly if she said something that might contradict him in public. A part of her wondered if she was simply being paranoid, because he hadn't done anything yet to indicate that he might curse her into submission; Tom had merely shown her his abilities and nothing more. Perhaps she was being a little too sensitive to it, but no one had ever shown her that they could perform an Unforgivable before, and for some reason it put her in a state of hyperawareness around Tom.

It had been about two weeks since Tom demonstrated his ability to penetrate her mind, and when she wasn't completely focused on him, she was almost completely submerged in school work. She needed to prep her fifth and seventh years for their important exams at the end of the term, but she also needed to get everyone else in the right frame of mind for less life-changing, but still important, exams offered by the school. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had found a temporary replacement for Wood, and while he still sulked through almost every practice, his absence on the pitch seemed to have an effect; the Gryffindor team was recently annihilated by the Ravenclaws in just under an hour. Minerva could easily detect the downtrodden attitude of the team without their leader, and she wasn't sure if they would be able to recover – even with her careful coaching.

Pomona and Slughorn had recently ended things. Her friend came to her sobbing a few days earlier, and spent almost two hours weeping in Minerva's room over her mug of tea as she explained every insignificant detail of the relationship's end. Apparently, Slughorn suddenly decided that he wasn't ready to commit to someone for the rest of his life right now. Although Minerva hadn't voiced it, she was under the assumption that Horace Slughorn was at the age where one bachelor might settle down, but he didn't want to do it with Pomona Sprout. It was unfortunate, yes, but she had genuinely thought that her friend might be more suited for a younger, somewhat quieter man who would let her do what she wanted. As professors, it was difficult to meet someone outside of Hogwarts, but the summer loomed only a few short months away, and Minerva was determined to find Pomona someone to take her mind off of Slughorn.

It was a chilly Wednesday night in March, and Minerva had listened to a very light rain drizzle against her window for the better part of the evening. After dinner with the rest of the staff members, she had retired to her room to do a little bit of homework corrections in bed before her night of Prefect Duties with Tom. If she was going to spend most of the night on her feet, as they were doing every single night for the week, she wanted to get a bit of time relaxing beforehand. Gus was sprawled out on a nearby pillow, his fur fluffed and eyes shut as his body rose and fell rhythmically with his breathing. Every so often she gave him a bit of a rub, stopping only when she needed both hands to make a correction on a piece of poorly done homework.

Suddenly, she heard the door swing open, her portrait chattering happily with the visitor, and Minerva glanced at her clock. It was far too early for Tom to show up to collect her for their rounds, and her portrait was _never_ chummy with him when he did show up. Minerva crawled to the end of her bed to get a better look, and then smiled happily when she spotted Albus making his way up the small entranceway into her room.

"This is a surprise," she greeted happily, gathering up her piles of paper into something that resembled the order he was used to seeing with her. "What brings you by, Albus?"

"You expressed an interest in a meeting with me," he explained as he settled into her chair, the one that normally held all of her coats and sweaters at the end of the day. "I thought I would make it a little more of a personal visit."

"Lovely," Minerva said with a grin. She watched Gus stroll across the bed quickly, hop off, and then find a spot on Albus' lap without even giving the man an option of refusing. She rolled her eyes a little as the headmaster went to work behind the cat's ears, and the dull roar of a purr followed shortly after.

"I feel as though I haven't seen Gus all year," Albus admitted.

"I try to keep him contained, or he might be a little short with the students," she explained, recalling how once Gus had scratched a neighbour's boy out of the blue. It was only after did she discover the lad had spent the entire afternoon plucking at the cat's fur and tugging at his tail, so it was only marginally more acceptable.

"Oh, send him up to my office," Albus insisted, leaning down a little as Gus tilted his nose up for more affection. "I'm sure Fawkes wouldn't mind the company."

"Yes, I'm sure he'd love to have a predator stalk him all day," Minerva laughed as she swung her legs over the side of her bed, leaning against the bedpost. "I'll bring him by tomorrow and you can decide if you can handle a large body of fur sprawled across your desk while you try to work."

"I look forward to it," the older man chuckled, his grin expanding when Gus pawed at his hand for more stroking.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both watching the way Gus twitched and sighed happily in the very capable hands of Albus Dumbledore. However, she knew he was waiting for her to start the intended conversation, but she couldn't quite find the right wording to get herself going. Instead, she continued to sit there, mum, and waited until he prodded her with a quirked eyebrow.

"I was thinking," Minerva finally started, her eyes now on her nails. "I think it's time to end Wood's punishment."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she insisted, shaking her head a little. "I mean, it was a harmless thing he did for me on a day that's been promoted as some… romantic end-all, and I put him in his place."

"Tom seemed quite opposed to it when he brought the issue to me," Albus informed her, studying Minerva through the careful lens of his half-moon spectacles. "I assumed that if it distressed him, it must have distressed you even more."

"Come now," Minerva scoffed, averting her eyes at the mention of Tom. "You know me better than that."

"Do I?"

She swallowed nervously under his gaze, and then shrugged her shoulders, "I think banning him from Quidditch in his final year is a little harsh. I think if you spoke with him again, he'll have learned his lesson."

He studied her for a moment, and she tried to look as certain as she possibly could. Roger must have missed Quidditch too much at this point to do something foolish in front of the headmaster again. Besides, it _was_ his final year, and if he was really this infatuated with her, he could learn to hide it for the rest of the term and then act on it when there were no consequences. Naturally, Minerva had no desire for a seventeen year old boy to act on such things, but it would be better if he tried it later in the year when they were no longer entangled in the dangerous teacher-student relationship.

"If you believe that he has come to some sort of realization," Dumbledore started softly, "then I will bring him back and offer him the same choice he was given previously. If he still refuses to leave you be, I might be forced to take more drastic action."

"Oh, you make him sound like one of those ridiculous Death Eaters," Minerva scoffed, waving off his concern with a brush of her hand. "It's just an infatuation. We've all had them, and they come to pass in time."

"Wise words, Minerva… very wise words."

She knew he wanted to discuss Tom, but at this point she couldn't even approach the subject without feeling a little guilty. He had trusted her to remain impartial around the man, and here she was sleeping with him and letting him get away with free lessons. Dumbledore seemed to hold Tom to a different standard, and she knew that even if she tried to tell him that the man was good, that he wasn't someone they ought to be concerned about, Dumbledore wasn't going to believe her. Minerva wasn't about to be the one to cause that sort of friction in their relationship.

"Is there anything else you wished to discuss with me?"

She blinked away her concerns about Tom, but instead quickly realized there might be something he could do to put her mind at further ease. Minerva straightened up a little, and then nodded.

"I would like you to teach me something, actually."

His grey eyebrows shot up, and he cocked his head to the side curiously, "Teach you something? It's been quite some time since we did any of that…"

"No, you teach me things all the time," she laughed, "but I doubt you realize you're doing it."

"Well, what is it then?"

She tucked some loose hair behind her ear, and then cleared her throat, "I'd like you to teach me how to combat the Imperius Curse."

The mirth disappeared from his expression, and there was a sudden serious tone to his voice that made her stomach knot, "Who has used the Imperius Curse on you?"

"No, no one," Minerva said quickly, a little panicked that he had seen right through the request. "I simply wish to prepare myself… I keep reading reports in the paper that these Death Eaters put people under the Imperius and force them to do horrible things. Summer is coming, and I can't stay at Hogwarts forever… I'd like some sort of ability to properly defend myself."

"Minerva-"

"It would make me feel a lot safer if I knew that I had some sort of defense mechanism for spells like that," she continued, hoping that he wouldn't pry any deeper. "While we're tackling that, perhaps we could also touch base with Occlumency and any other sort of mind penetration…"

Minerva trailed off, and she was quick to notice the hesitation on his face. Normally he was so keen to teach her anything she asked, but for some reason it felt different this time.

"Of course, it's only if you have the time," Minerva told him. She licked her lips and fidgeted under his gaze, "Albus, please don't look at me like that."

"I want you to be honest with me, Minerva."

"I am being honest!"

Simply omitting information did not make her a liar.

"Where have you seen this spell performed?" he inquired lightly, leaning back in the chair and resting his hands against his chest. Gus seemed to notice that the stroking had ceased, but he remained curled up on the man's lap.

"You've never once questioned my academic desires," Minerva told him. "Why now?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

Minerva sucked in her cheeks and looked away. He had put it out there; he knew that she was seeing Tom romantically, but he must not have had the heart to completely string her up just yet.

"I haven't lost sight of what you asked me to do at the beginning of this year," she finally told him, completely assured in her words. She hadn't, after all. They may have become involved with one another, but Minerva knew she would be able to find the confidence to put her foot down if Tom stepped too far out of line with students. "I'm in control, Albus."

"Control isn't something he gives up on a whim," he remarked. "Be careful, Minerva."

"You know," she started, a sense of frustration welling up inside her, "you always tell me to be careful, to watch myself, but you've yet to tell me why. What has he done that's turned you so far off him? Why did you even hire him if you have all these doubts?"

For a very brief moment, Albus seemed taken aback by the question. However, he recovered quickly and smoothly, "Everyone is a risk to hire… Every single one of the professors that have been taken on at Hogwarts holds some kind of risk. Would you like me to explain the doubts I had hiring you?"

"No," she said softly. "I trust you, Albus. Do you trust me?"

He smiled kindly, the smile she was used to seeing when they were together, and then leaned toward her just a tad, "I have always trusted you, Minerva. Never forget that."

She nodded, and Gus finally slunk off the man's lap just as he tried to stand up. The cat returned to her side, but instead of crawling onto her lap, he curled up next to her leg, the remnants of his purring still present.

"Why don't we start this weekend with the end of your Prefect rounds?" Albus suggested. "That will allow us more free time in the evenings when you have no obligations."

"That sounds wonderful," Minerva beamed. "You know how much I appreciate it."

"Tell me that after you've learned what you need to do to counteract some of these spells," he chuckled. "You might not be so happy with me then."

"I'm always up for a challenge."

They left their conversation at a high point, and Minerva released a sigh of relief once the headmaster had finally taken his leave. It could have all gone so much worse; she knew Albus would never flatly accuse her of traitorous behaviour because she was involved with Tom, but she now wondered if he might have thought it secretly. Mind you, she wasn't about to ask him any of that… Maybe in a few years when the dust had settled they could revisit this time and express what they were both thinking, but nothing of it ought to be discussed for now.

She heard her door swing open once more just after she stepped into her lavatory, and Minerva poked her head out with a smile, wondering if Albus had forgotten something. However, the smile faltered a little when she spied Tom marching up the narrow corridor. Was it already time for their rounds? She glanced at the clock on her wall, and then noticed Gus had sunk down between two of her pillows, eyeing Tom apprehensively from his hiding spot.

"You're early," Minerva commented as she slipped back into the lavatory. She quickly redid her hair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

After giving herself a quick once over in the mirror, she switched off the light and stepped back out into her room. Tom had replaced Albus in her small chair, and he studied her with his arms folded, a slightly grim expression on his face. She frowned as she approached him, and had hoped that the quick kiss might have softened his gaze a little. Instead, he continued to look surly, and she planted her hands on her hips.

"What's the matter?"

"Why was Albus in your room just now?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"You heard what I said."

"Yes, I did," she remarked, "but I'm trying to fathom why you would say it…"

He stood abruptly, and Minerva took a few steps back, her guard flying up within seconds. She certainly didn't like him to behave in such a way; jealousy wasn't an emotion that Minerva appreciated in a man she was involved with. He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows up, and she knew he wasn't going to ask her again, or discuss anything else, until she gave him some sort of acceptable answer. Her eye twitched a little.

"Albus Dumbledore has been my friend since I was a student here," she told him sharply. "If he wants to stop by for a friendly chat, you have no reason to demand an explanation."

"I think I do."

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Tom," she sneered, unable to keep up the façade of domesticated young lover when he was making her irritated. She might have been compliant when they were in bed, and occasionally when they were alone, but when he was immediately frustrating seconds after arrival, well, she wasn't going to let him get away with it.

The man scoffed noisily, and then rolled his eyes, "I have _nothing_ to be jealous of when it comes to you and Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh?" she said as she snatched her wand from its place on her dresser and slipped it into the holster in her sleeve. "Quite confident then, are you?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Tom said softly as he grabbed hold of her hips and turned her around sharply, "will _never_ give you what I can give you."

Her hands pushed at his, displeased with the way he could easily bend her frame over her short dresser; most of all, she was displeased with the way it excited her.

"Stop that," she demanded when he went for her hair. "Stop, we need to go to rounds."

"They should know what they're doing by now," he growled in her ear, suddenly going for her skirt, scrunching it in his fist.

Honestly, sometimes she wondered if he would ever be satiated; she had had more sex with Tom than she had had in her entire life thus far, and still it wasn't enough. He always seemed to desire more at the most inopportune moments.

He tugged her hair back sharply, forcing her head to rest against his shoulder, and Minerva exhaled excitedly when he bit at her neck. His spare hand had hiked her skirt up in a bundle between their bodies quickly, and she fell out of her aroused stupor when the flesh of his fingers danced along the bare flesh above her stocking.

"No, Tom," she hissed, slapping his hand away from her legs. "We should go."

The man ignored her, and instead turned her head sharply to the side, his hand tightly gripping the base of her hair. Her eyes met his, and she certainly didn't need to look much further to know he was more irritated than aroused.

"Why was he here?"

"I already told you," she lied. "He stopped by for a chat. We have those from time to time."

"Bit unprofessional to be in a professor's bedroom, don't you think?"

"_This_ is unprofessional," she told him pointedly.

He grinned wolfishly and leaned in for a kiss, only to flinch back when they heard something shatter behind them. Minerva took the momentary distraction as a means to slip free from his grip, and then sighed when she saw Gus had knocked her lamp off her side table on his journey to the underbelly of her bed. It only took a quick flick of her wand to fix, and she made a wide arc around Tom as she moved toward the door afterward.

"Let's go," she ordered briskly as she smoothed out her hair, hoping there were no physical signs of their encounter on her person. "We can continue this later if you're so upset about it."

"That won't be necessary," he grumbled, following her out at a safe distance.

"Good."

He might have a reason to be concerned, and she realized it was the same suspicion that Albus had of her. In fact, both men were right, and Minerva realized she was lying to both of them. It was actually a terrible feeling – crippling, even. She had never thought of herself as anything less than an exceptionally loyal person. She knew her own morals better than anything in this world, and here she was, hiding the truth from two of the most important men in her life at this point, aside from her father and brothers. She shot a look over her shoulder at Tom, who followed her sullenly through the halls, and she decided that it was quite worrying that she thought of him as such an important figure; apparently, he equated to Albus in her head. No, that shouldn't be how it was; Dumbledore ought to be first, and Tom second.

They found their prefects congregated in front of the Great Hall, punctual and present as always. Minerva had every intention of delegating where they ought to go, despite the fact the pairs were almost always the same, but it was Tom who spoke first.

"Well," he snapped, clearly in no mood for pleasantries, "don't you all know where you ought to be by now?"

Minerva sighed a chastising sigh, shooting him a look as the students before them scuttled off in all directions.

"What?" he sneered as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

The remnants of the student population in the Great Hall slowly trickled out, and Minerva held her tongue as they filtered by. Curfew would be in effect shortly, and they all knew with two professors lurking nearby that it was time to get going.

"You know you shouldn't take out your frustration with me on students," she said quietly, her face careful neutral as she observed the departing teenagers.

"Don't lecture me, Minerva," he snapped. "I'm not in the mood tonight."

Apparently. Minerva pursed her lips and then turned away, perfectly happy to continue on her rounds by herself. However, footsteps indicated Tom wasn't finished with her, and they instead strolled the dimly lit corridors together in silence. By the time they had made it up to the third floor, curfew was in effect, and she made sure she was the one to remind any students they may have run into; Tom only would have frightened them off unnecessarily.

The silence was starting to feel unbearable. She had been in arguments with him before, but they usually hashed out their differences like logical adults. The silent treatment seemed wasted and unnecessary, particularly on two people of their intellectual level, and yet there they were, behaving like children. She wasn't about to let some petty emotion ruin the rest of her night, and perhaps the next few days of her life. Instead, when they were in a corridor seldom visited by anyone other than the janitorial staff, she turned to face him, her hands on her hips.

"All right, this is ridiculous," Minerva told him flatly. "You cannot seriously be this surly because Albus came to pay me a visit… an _innocent_ visit at that."

He sucked in his cheeks, giving his eyes a more sunken impression that normal, and she quirked an eyebrow as she waited for a response. However, instead of a verbal one, he responded physically. Tom invaded her space once more that night, but this time he was gentle, dipping his head down to kiss her softly, a hand cupping her beneath her chin. Her eyelashes fluttered quickly, and the gesture almost surprised her as much as it would have if he slammed her to the wall to enforce a point; he was never very gentle with her anymore, never quite as romantic as most women wanted. Minerva didn't necessarily desire the romance, but this was actually quite nice.

When he drew himself back, she licked her lips, her breathing steady and even. There was a peace in his eyes now, and it seemed that the kiss had forced his anger to dissipate. It might only be temporary, but it made Minerva smile up at him, hoping that this might settle their relations for the remainder of the evening. He didn't quite return the smile, and instead took her hand in his and tugged her along through the corridor. They continued the remainder of their rounds in silence still, but it was a far more comfortable one, one that did not give Minerva the anxiety that the previous one did. She linked her fingers through his, ignoring the way the portraits whispered things to her.

They did not run into any of the prefects that night, and Minerva simply assumed they were doing their duty elsewhere. However, they did run in to one lone soul that night where he ought not to be, and Minerva certainly wasn't going to let it stand. As they approached Myrtle's abandoned toilet, she spotted a student clad in Slytherin's colours darting out of it hastily. She released Tom's hand and ordered the boy to stop, eyes narrowing as she approached a boy named Drake O'Dwyer. He seemed irritated to be caught by Minerva, but his face paled when Tom joined her in cornering the lad in front of the lavatory.

"You realize it is long after curfew?" she inquired tightly, an eyebrow arching as she shot a look into the toilet, "_And_ you were in a female lavatory?"

"I…" the boy started, and then shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"It seems Slytherins have an affinity for this toilet," Minerva remarked, shooting a look in Tom's direction. However, she was taken aback by the anger scrawled plainly on his facial features; was he upset that some other boy had started using the lavatory he seemed to like? Odd.

"It was a dare," Drake told her. "We're just playing a game in the common room… and mine was to… get a toilet seat from Myrtle's bathroom."

"Oh?" Minerva asked, shaking her head at the ridiculous games that students deem fit to play, "Well, that'll be ten points from Slytherin for being out beyond your curfew… and twenty for attempting to deface school property. Anything else you'd like to share with me?"

The boy shook his head quickly as he stared down at his feet, clearly embarrassed that he was caught.

"Well then," Minerva sighed, waving off in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories, "off you go."

He nodded, but before he could get too far, Tom was already after him.

"I'll walk him back," he told Minerva, placing a hand on Drake's shoulder and giving it a noticeable squeeze. "Don't want him wandering into any of the other female toilets on the way, do we?"

She tried to call him back, insist that Drake didn't need an escort, but he seemed determined to get him back to his dormitory without much delay. As they disappeared down the dark corridor, Minerva pulled out her wand and quickly illuminated the entrance to the normally empty bathroom. For all the time she had spent wondering why Tom had such an interest in the place, she had turned up no clues as of yet. None of the toilets opened to secret passageways, and the sinks barely had enough water pressure to be functional. So, it would remain a mystery as to why they were so interested in this place, but it was one she was determined to solve.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

**So, I think I realized why it took me so long to write this – I didn't want to do the Dumbledore/Minerva scene. Once I had that out of the way, everything else flowed easily. I'm not really sure why, but that scene just seemed to give me this massive block that put me off from working on this story. Now that it's sorted, hopefully I'll be able to get back on track. **

**I'm currently on chapter 35 of this story, and I'm thinking of making it go to 45 or 50. I mean, that's the general plan because they seem like nice numbers, but obviously that's subject to change depending on how the next few chapters play out. I have toyed with the idea of a sequel, but they never seem to be as good as the first story, so I'm hesitant to promise one at the moment. **

**Also, RIP Slughorn/Pomona. I'll deal with the end of that relationship a little more in the next chapter, but I just wanted to get it out there. It actually kind of saddens me. **

**Thank you to all my loyal readers. It's been just over a year since I started this story, and even though it has its dips in activity, I love that you still come back to read and provide useful feedback. It really means a lot to me, and I wouldn't be able to chug along without you. Thank you!**


	36. I'll know my name as it's called again

The first set of Quidditch games after a long winter hiatus always had the school in a wonderful sort of buzz. Minerva was thrilled to attend a match that Saturday morning at the very end of March, despite the mountain of work she had waiting for her in her office. However, it was the first time in quite some time that she was ahead just enough to justify spending a morning with Tom, followed by an afternoon at the Quidditch Pitch, and then perhaps the night with her man too. After all, the morning merely consisted of a lengthy breakfast discussing the Prophet, followed by a stroll through the corridors under the guise of monitoring student behaviour. _That_ was hardly what he wanted to be doing with her, and Minerva had been keenly aware of that for about a week now. Well, perhaps a little longer, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much she enjoyed teasing him.

It had been nearly a month since she asked Albus to teach her how to block outside forces from controlling her mind, and she was pleased to say that she acquired the skill quickly. Her mentor was hardly shocked that she could put up an adequate barrier to his defenses, but rather put out that she had yet to tell him why she had such a keen interest in learning. Naturally, she assumed Albus had his suspicions has to why she needed to know such defense tactics, but he was a good man, and an even better friend; therefore, he had yet to actually say anything further about her motives, or demand to know by withholding lessons. With her new abilities flourishing, Minerva felt as though she could be more confident around Tom. After all, if she could defend herself against Albus, Tom really wouldn't be much of a challenge should something ever click and he tried to force himself into her head.

So, Minerva decided it was time to stop being such an appeasing partner, and actually required her lover to work for her affections. He had become so accustomed to having her whenever he pleased, sometimes several times in a week, and she wasn't going to let him dominate her sexually anymore. It might have been a way to placate him previously when she worried for her mind, but now that she was growing stronger in her magic, it was time to stop acting like a sniveling girl. Therefore, when she told him no, she meant it. At first, he tried a few easy tactics to persuade her, and quickly grew irritated when she did not immediately spread her legs for him. He was the most frustrated when he spent the night in her room, and she would do nothing more than kiss and hold him. Let him be frustrated, she had thought. Minerva had decided that once she was no longer fearful of what _might_ happen should she upset him, she needed to retake some of the leverage she had lost by being so compliant.

Only then did Tom bring back a little bit of romance into their relationship. He showed up with flowers one evening, complimented her, rubbed her shoulders after a Quidditch practice, purred sweet suggestions in her ear, but even then Minerva merely expressed her appreciation through her lips, occasionally grazing him whenever she felt like being a tease. It was empowering to know that she drove him to such a great frustration. It was also quite pleasant to have a break from engaging him sexually; she hadn't ever had this much sex in her entire adult life, and it was exhausting. So, she had spent some time recently reasserting her place in the dynamics of their relationship, and at the same time she gave her body a much needed rest.

When he finally brought it to her attention, her unwillingness to bed him, Minerva admitted that she had simply been enjoying the innocent times they spent together as of late. However, she did acknowledge that she felt as though they did need intimacy, but only when he couldn't have it. After a little more than two weeks of denying him, she had a monthly visit from an unwelcome bodily friend, which forced him to wait yet another week. That issue resolved itself a few days ago, but both had been busy with midterm exams, and it was only today that they had the real opportunity to be with one another without tests looming over their heads.

Aside from her issues with Tom and her lessons with Albus, Minerva's life had been relatively stable. She taught on the same schedule she had all year, worked Prefect rounds, and practiced with the Gryffindor Quidditch team whenever she could. True to his word, Albus spoke with Roger, and the boy was smart enough to tell the headmaster he would leave Minerva be, which meant he could play on the team once more. She was extra careful not to let Wood know that she had intervened for him, lest she stir up any more inappropriate behaviour. However, the boy was just so happy to be back on the team that he had not discussed one thing with her thus far that didn't involve Quidditch or team plays. It was actually quite pleasant to be around him when he wasn't attempting to proclaim his love for her, and for now, she could pretend that it didn't exist.

Now that she had her anxiety about Tom under control, Wood was no longer slipping her love notes, and Albus had resumed teaching her something useful, Minerva actually felt happy. _Yes_, lessons were still quite frustrating when students did not understand something immediately, and all of life's little frustrations didn't simply vanish because she had a few aspects under control. Everything that might irritate a person was still present, but they seemed to have less of an impact for her now than they might have a month ago. She smiled a little more now, accepted students to see her even beyond the time of her designated office hours, and actually let herself joke around with her Chasers during practice. For the first time in years, it seemed that she could let herself be happy for long periods of time, and the niggling fears that may have gnawed away at her before were temporarily silenced.

Minerva wasn't a fool. She knew the calm couldn't last forever, so she ought to celebrate it when it was present in her life. That was why she opted to finally take a day off from her actual work in order to enjoy the rest of what Hogwarts had to offer her during the year. Quidditch was always an event to be celebrated, and the day was only made sweeter by the fact that Tom had been in an incredibly good mood all morning. Their conversations had been light, fun, and entertaining, and although it was still obvious that he wanted to take her to bed, he was much more flirtatious about it rather than moody. When she left to get dressed properly for the cool spring weather, he had kissed her on the cheek privately and told her he would meet her there, a bit of a bounce in his step as he strolled off. It was always pleasant to see him in a good mood, because it made things so much easier for her in the long run.

So, Minerva had grabbed a coat that was long but thin in order to cover her deep scarlet dress, and then wrapped a bright red scarf around and over the navy garment. She might not have been able to wear her old Gryffindor scarf to the match, but that certainly did not mean she couldn't show off the colours. At this point, it was probably fairly clear to just about anyone who had heard of her that she was a Gryffindor supporter, even if she had never said so explicitly.

Today was the third match of the spring term, and it was technically Wood's first game since he had been deposed earlier in the year. So, Minerva was a little anxious to see the team come out on top; they had been training very hard this year, putting in more hours than humanely possible, and yet they were still only third in the league, just one step ahead of Ravenclaw. Today would be the first of several deciding matches to see where her old house would rank in the grand overall scheme of the Quidditch season, and they needed a generous victory if they wanted their third place rank to be secure. She had tried hard to get the Chasers into a new formation earlier in the week, one that might be more successful against the Ravenclaw players who were much larger in size (and therefore had more brute strength), but with everything happening academically, her girls seemed to forget more than they remembered lately. However, Wood was finally back on the team and out in a game, so she was fairly confident that team morale would increase enough to secure some sort of victory – even a small one was acceptable.

With Tom meeting her down at the stands, Minerva opted to grab Pomona before she left the castle. Her friend remained miserable in the remnants of her break-up with Slughorn, and although Minerva tried desperately to be as peppy as possible for her – a huge feat, mind you – Pomona Sprout seemed down at a place where there was no hope of rescuing her. Minerva could have understood a reasonable mourning period for the loss of her relationship, but it was getting a little frustrating at this point. They hadn't actually been together all that long, and she always assumed that Horace _Slughorn_ would be someone that was relatively easy to move on from. However, apparently she was wrong, and the woman still looked positively glum as Minerva swung by her office to meet with her.

"I don't really feel like Quidditch today," the woman admitted with a half-hearted shrug, eyes only slightly apologetic as she gazed at Minerva from behind her desk. "Why don't you go without me?"

"Because I would feel guilty leaving you here to wallow," Minerva snapped, snatching her bright green cloak off the hanger on the back of her door and extending her hand. "Do not make me force you to go, Pomona, because you know I will."

"But-"

"Oh, honestly," Minerva sighed as she nearly threw the cloak at her friend, but opted instead to stuff it firmly into her hands. "You see him _everywhere_, and he has never been anything but pleasant to you. Perhaps going about your normal routine without fretting you will be forced to speak to him will be enough to get you by for today."

"I suppose," Pomona remarked glumly, "but we can't sit near him."

"Fine," she groaned, throwing her hands up in defeat and then checking her watch. "Now come along, or we'll miss the opening."

It took another few minutes for Pomona to stop fussing here and there in her office, but Minerva eventually managed to get her friend out and into the world again. The sun was painfully bright that morning, forcing her to squint during the entire walk to the pitch, and she hoped someone had the good sense to draw the awning over the professors' private stand. Otherwise, this match was going to be terribly difficult to focus on with sunlight continuously blocking her view.

It seemed that the entire school was keen on attending a Quidditch match today, as the students were out in droves along the pathway to the stadium. She saw students from all houses moving in small clusters, and she realized that it was finally getting down to the wire for the Quidditch season; these next few games would determine the rankings for the year, and past performances had little weight if the teams could not play well now. Her mood lifted considerably as she absorbed the buzz of energy around her, and she assumed that the match would be a high point for the week. After all the exams and assignments that she and her students had endured lately, this was a welcome reprieve.

She was thankful that professors did not need to share bench space with students, as they were quite unruly already, particularly in the Gryffindor sections. She was also thankful someone did have the good sense to draw the awning out, and as she settled comfortably onto the first bench of the stand next to her friend, she let out a pleasant sigh, happy to be out of the sun. Yes, she had missed that glowing orb all winter, but she would have preferred a cool, cloudy day on days where she needed to watch students whip around on broomsticks.

They weren't the first to arrive, but they were among some of the early birds waiting for the start of the match. The rest of the staff – for the most part, anyway – filtered in just before the game started. Pomona stared pointedly in the direction of the Hufflepuff stand, as though watching her old house for any misbehaviour, when Horace arrived with Albus. The older man shot his former beau a slightly uncomfortable look, and a weak smile to Minerva, and finally hurried up to sit at the back of the stand with the headmaster. Honestly. Minerva tried not to roll her eyes; she thought the drama was a little unnecessary, considering the players. However, Albus had shot her a friendly enough grin, patting her shoulder affectionately as he passed her seated on the end of the bench.

As she might have predicted, Tom was among the last to come bouncing up the steps. At that point there was no space for him to squeeze in next to her, but he said nothing about it, and instead forced Vector and Hagrid to shift down on the bench behind her so that he could sit there. She smirked a little, pleased that he made the effort to sit near her, but stiffened a little when she felt him place a hand on her waist as he leaned down. It was fairly obvious Pomona was still staring pointedly at the field, and Minerva wondered if her friend also had an aversion to seeing other couples interact now that her relationship was in ashes. After all, she couldn't remember the last time since the break-up that Pomona had been alone with Minerva and Tom in the staff room, when before it was a regular occurrence.

"Hello," he breathed in her ear, lips tickling against her as he spoke. Minerva pulled her head away just enough so that she could turn without making contact with him, and then smiled a little.

"Better late than never, I suppose," she mused, arching an eyebrow at him.

"The game hasn't even started, Minerva," he scolded, tutting at her like a child. "You really must learn to contain your enthusiasm about this sport… It might become a problem."

"You just don't understand the finesse of Quidditch because you were always beaten when you played," she cooed. He pursed his lips at the jest, and she shrugged as though it were fact. She couldn't quite recall if Slytherin had played any worse when Tom was on the team, but she was fairly sure he couldn't either.

"Is that so?"

"It's only what I've heard," Minerva remarked as she turned back to face the pitch, applauding noisily with the rest of the staff as the Gryffindor team raced out into the arena. She heard Tom give two distinct claps before he spoke again.

"I see you're in a competitive mood today, my dear," he purred in her ear, his hand tightening over her hip just briefly enough before she nudged it away. "Why don't we take advantage of that?"

"Oh?" she laughed, giving a loud cheer when the announcer introduced her Chasers for the match. Once composed, she glanced to the side once more, "What did you have in mind?"

"I think a friendly wager should do," Tom told her, nodding out toward the field as Ravenclaws players zoomed from their waiting dock at the far end. "If your lions win, you can decide what we do tonight… anything you like, _anywhere_ you like."

Minerva felt her skin prickle at the thought, but she remained decidedly aloof, eyes glued to Hooch as the woman flew out to commence the match, "And if Ravenclaw wins?"

"Then I shall be the one to decide how we will… celebrate," he murmured heatedly, pinching her waist sharply through her thin coat. Minerva jumped involuntarily, cheeks bright red at both the implications of what he had said and the way he brazenly startled her. "_Anything_ I want, anywhere I want."

She blinked at the thought; what a dangerous game he was playing. However, if she were to win, Minerva would have total control over what their night could be. She didn't really have any plans in mind at the moment, but there were possibilities that she might like to explore. After all, if Tom was eager to interact on a more intimate level at this point, Minerva also felt the familiar tug of desire as he breathed in her ear. So, although this could go in a direction she didn't like should she lose – mind you, what hadn't they done at this point? But Tom had been in such a wonderful mood that morning, and the wager seemed more playful than anything else. Minerva looked back at him and sought out his eyes, trying to see if she could detect any sort of maliciousness behind his words, but she found none.

"I accept your bet," Minerva told him formally, extending her hand for him to shake. She smirked when he gripped her hand a little too tight, "Though I think you may want to reconsider… Gryffindor has been in top form lately."

"We'll see, Minerva, we'll see," he insisted, giving her hand a quick shake. She was the first to pull back, and out of the corner of her eye she watched him settle as best he could on the bench, focused on the game. At this point, the first Quaffle had been thrown, and the possession belonged to Gryffindor. Pleased, Minerva folded her hands neatly in her lap, skin a little irritated with the cool spring air, and then allowed her attention to be entirely consumed by the game.

Pomona appeared to have relaxed a little now that her private conversation had stopped, and Minerva felt irritated at the thought. She was allowed to speak to her romantic partner whenever she pleased, just as Pomona had been allowed to crawl all over Horace in the early stages of their relationship, whether they were in private or not. If this continued, she might be forced to say something harsher in order to snap her friend back to reality. Minerva certainly did not want to lecture a grown woman about her actions, but if they continued to be immature and petty, she might have to.

Although Gryffindor took an early lead, Minerva watched in dismay as they floundered throughout most of the second portion of the match. The formations she had worked on with the Chasers seemed completely forgotten, and Wood struggled to keep up; he appeared rusty, flustered, and irritated during the duration of the game. She winced when one of the Gryffindor Beaters sustained an injury serious enough to take him off for the rest of the match. They may have managed to pick up a few points near the end of the match, but as soon as the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the snitch, the game ended abysmally. Naturally, the crowds were still on a high from all the action they had seen – Ravenclaws elated and Gryffindor moaning noisily about unfair calls on Hooch's behalf and the dismal play seen by their team captain.

Minerva sighed irritably as she heard her colleagues shifting around her. The team was better than this – they were better than what she had just seen. She had seen better performances during practices, and she knew they were more than capable of beating Ravenclaws dwindling team at this point in the year. She wasn't particularly sure what had happened, but she made a note to herself that she shouldn't say anything at the next practice. The team's defeat would be for Wood to handle, and she was sure he wouldn't let them off easily.

"Well, that was unfortunate," Pomona sighed as she hastily rose, smoothing her hands over her cloak and nodding toward the stairs. "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's go," Minerva remarked. She too rose and made to follow her friend toward the stairs. However, a hand snatched her by her forearm, and she nearly stumbled as she was tugged back.

"Nine o'clock, my office," Tom told her softly, eyes darting down for the briefest of moments before they returned to hers. "Wear nothing under your dress."

Her cheeks tinted at the directness of the order, and she opened her mouth to protest. However, Tom simply held up a finger, an eyebrow cocked, and shook his head.

"_Anything_ I want to celebrate, Minerva," he mused, the delight quite obvious in his eyes despite the thin line set by his lips. "Don't be late."

She ground her teeth together irritably, and then yanked her arm from his grasp before departing. Honestly, he was a smug bastard when he won something. As she quickly descended the staircase to catch up with Pomona, she quickly realized that this might have been a foolish bargain to make. She hadn't even considered it at the time, but what if he wanted to use the Imperius Curse on her? Would she be forced to show him that she had trained recently to defend herself, or would she simply let him take control for the night because that was what they had agreed upon? She swallowed nervously at the thought, but then threw her shoulders back. Honestly, she was a grown woman, and she was more than capable of telling Tom that she did not want to do something if he had unwelcome desires that evening.

If anything, she knew they were going to be intimate, because that was the only goal he had lately whenever they were alone. She could certainly handle that. In fact, she welcomed it with a small smile; it wasn't as though sex was completely for Tom's pleasure and never for hers, so perhaps she ought not to worry.

Where she did need to worry was Pomona's nearly obsessive desire to not be caught anywhere near Slughorn, and Minerva almost had to run to catch up with the portly woman. It was surprising how fast she could move when she had an intention behind her stride.

"Pomona," Minerva snapped when she finally caught up with her, shooting a glare in the woman's direction, "this is ridiculous."

"I thought I might carry on if you were speaking with Tom," she insisted lightly, shrugging as though she couldn't see a problem. "I didn't know we were walking back together-"

"You are _running_, not walking," Minerva stated. She finally breathed an irritated sigh and directed them both toward the greenhouses, quite intent on setting down the law of how this friendship ought to work. "Now, you listen to me, Pomona. You have been on this Earth for a number of years _before_ you had anything to do with Horace Slughorn, and you will find that life has not changed much since you stopped dating him. I assure you, there is no need for any of this behaviour."

Her resolve faltered a little when she saw tears well up in the shorter woman's eyes, and she immediately regretted taking a harsh line with her. Pomona wiped her nose unceremoniously, and then shook her head.

"No, you're right, of course," Pomona sputtered, "but he really hurt my feelings, Minerva. Don't you understand? I don't want to be near him, and I just… I want it to be summer so I can go somewhere and forget about him."

"But you don't _need_ to go anywhere," she said gently, giving her friend's arms a squeeze. "You may have had a lovely time with him, and he may have said some hurtful things, but you are bigger than all this, Pomona. The woman I know would have laughed this off because she knows she deserves better than someone who treats her poorly. Did I mistake her for someone else?"

A shy smile suddenly appeared on Pomona's lips, and Minerva felt as though she had made up for her harsh blunder before. From there, she gave her friend a hug, but only after checking around to see if there were any students lurking. Although Minerva wasn't necessarily the type of person to give or receive hugs outside of a romantic setting, she knew Pomona was, and the appreciation in the woman's eyes was enough to make the contact justified.

Although she was fairly sure the issue still lingered, Minerva felt like she had covered enough grounds today that Pomona would be less inclined to run away whenever Slughorn was around. However, that could all change tomorrow, or even by tonight, but for now she felt accomplished in her actions. With that sorted, the duo made their way back to the castle, and split off toward their respective offices to spend the remainder of their Saturday afternoons grading midterms. Although it meant she would be less productive, Minerva gathered up all her papers and drifted back to her bedroom so that Gus could get some quality cuddles between each set of essay questions. It wasn't until about eight that her hunger forced her out and down to the kitchens for a bowl of soup, and when she returned, she realized she had gone the rest of the afternoon without worrying about her night with Tom.

That must have been a sign, right?

Pleased, Minerva stopped work at about quarter to nine, and then quickly freshened herself up in the lavatory. She brushed her hair out, but then opted to put it up in a ponytail. Tom seemed to prefer it down, but she wasn't about to make it easy on him when he already had the upper-hand. After, she quickly brushed her teeth, readjusted her garter, and then checked her skin in the mirror for good measure. With about five minutes to spare, Minerva hurried toward the door, only to realize she hadn't quite complied with all of his rules. She hesitated, and then licked her lips, debating if she could actually walk through the corridors of Hogwarts without knickers on. She glanced back at Gus, who simply blinked at her with his wide, judgemental eyes, and then hitched up her skirt to remove her sensible undergarments.

Why not?

Unfortunately, it meant she couldn't wear the garters that Tom had such an eye for, but she replaced them with a pair of knee-high socks that she thought might have a similar effect. Afterward, she slipped into a pair of shoes, low heeled, and then darted out of her room and down the corridor. His office wasn't far, but she had to move quickly if she did not want to be 'late', as he had insisted she not be.

His door was partially closed when she arrived, and Minerva knocked twice before letting herself in. She found him leaning back against his desk, arms folded, expression unreadable as he watched her.

"You're late."

Minerva glanced at the large clock behind his desk, next to his hideous portrait that was mercifully vacant tonight, and then arched an eyebrow, "Two minutes late. I was making readjustments-"

"Late is late," he said sharply, nodding at her. "Shut the door."

She fidgeted with the fabric of her dress for a moment, and then turned back stiffly to shut the door. It was then he was upon her, his body flush with her back, a hand wrapped around her ponytail. Minerva winced when he tugged it back sharply, drawing her head back to rest against his shoulder. Her stomach knotted happily: a familiar sign of excitement. She watched as he made a show of slowly locking all three of the large locks he must have recently installed on his door, her hand drifting back to the one on her hair in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

"They're only to keep people out," he whispered, tugging harder when she tried to loosen his grip, "but never to keep someone in."

Minerva opened her mouth to reply, perhaps question the sentiment, but his lips found hers before she could get a sound out. They were crushing, demanding, punishing; she had to work hard to keep up with him. He finally released her hair and turned her, back now pressed against the wall, and Minerva inhaled sharply when he yanked her tie from her hair, dragging out a clump of hair with it. She trembled weakly as his lips trailed down her neck, a more excited pulse awakening in the pit of her being, and Minerva cried out in surprise when he bit at her collarbone.

Then, just as quickly as he was upon her, Tom stepped back, leaving her sputtering a bit at the immediate lack of contact. She watched his dark eyes travel slowly over the length of her body, and then fidgeted anxiously. They hadn't played this game before, where he would stop so shortly after he started, and Minerva wasn't exactly sure where it was headed. Tom smirked a little, and then soundlessly walked back behind his desk to take a seat in his rather large office chair, which he turned to the side gracefully. From there, he quirked a finger at her, and Minerva moved slowly across the small office, a frown on her lips.

Was he interested in doing this on a chair?

"On your knees," he told her when she finally stood in front of him, and Minerva blanched at the command.

"Excuse me?" she stammered, eyebrows shooting up as her arms crossed defensively. He picked at his nails for a moment, and then glanced at up her, an unreadable glint still plain in his gaze.

"I know you heard what I said."

"Yes, I heard what you said," she snapped, nostrils flaring indignantly. "I merely wondered what might cause you to-"

"_Anything_ I want, Minerva," Tom told her sharply, his head cocked to the side. "Surely you have done it before."

"_Yes_," she hissed, glaring at him a little, "I have done it before."

Once.

"Good," he breathed as he made himself a little more comfortable. "Well then, on your knees."

Minerva glanced back at the door, and then swallowed nervously, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear as she debated what she ought to do. She wasn't a prude. No, she certainly wasn't, and probably couldn't ever be considered one again after her relationship with Tom.

So, she tentatively kneeled down in front of him, knees automatically repulsed by the solid stonework beneath them. Her eyes closed as he ran a finger along her cheek, appreciative of the intimacy that he brought to the act.

"Well, must I do everything myself?" she heard him drone, and her eyes flew open petulantly. He nodded down toward his belt buckle, and with hands that she wished wouldn't quiver, she reached forward to undo it.

Minerva had done the action many times before, but she had never bothered to stare too long at, well, _it_. The thought usually embarrassed her, which was ridiculous; after all, she did enjoy the pleasure _it_ brought under Tom's crafty wielding, but never once had she the desire to be overly familiar with it.

The zipper came next, followed by a shuffling of fabric. Minerva quickly realized that she did not need to actually remove his trousers or undergarments to have access to what lay underneath, but she still hesitated when she actually reached that point.

"Come now," he murmured as he ran a hand through her hair. "How many times have I used this on you? Surely you cannot still be bashful."

She looked up at him, at his smug lips, his quirked eyebrow; couldn't he see she was bashful? Even if he did, he said nothing more about it. He simply stared at her, waiting, arousal quite obvious beneath her hovering hands. Finally, she bit the insides of her cheeks and slid her hands in, tensing a little when she heard him inhale sharply at the contact. Her eyes darted elsewhere when she actually pulled it out, refusing to stare at what was blatantly right in front of her face as she ran her hand along its length, doing whatever she thought he might like by stroking and squeezing at alternate grips.

"Use your mouth, Minerva."

"Tom-"

"_Anything_ I want," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, and she flinched at the hint of cruelty to his tone. However, when she looked up to meet his gaze, arousal read back to her, and she realized she was doing something for him that he wanted, something he liked. One day, it would be her turn – surely it would.

He hissed noisily when she ran her tongue along its length, her eyes constantly looking elsewhere still. She squealed a little when he gripped a handful of her hair, forcing her down at a pace he seemed to prefer to her cautious exploration. Her hands, meanwhile, clutched at his legs in an effort to both keep her balance and force herself up, her body resisting his pushing when she gagged a little. Eyes watering, Minerva simply tried to focus on her breathing, only half-listening to the way he groaned above her. At least he was enjoying himself; she could feel him growing a little harder each time she slid down his entire length, her throat tightening at the contact.

Minerva was torn between pleasing her significant other, who clearly felt free to take what he needed as the winner of the bet, and standing up for her own self-worth in this situation. Women surely did this for their men all the time, whenever they desired it, and she quickly decided she may simply need a little practice before she felt comfortable with it. No one was comfortable that first time.

She offered to use her tongue the best she could, despite the fact it felt constricted in her mouth, and tried to flicker it along him at different intervals. He inhaled sharply as she did, and suddenly pulled her off, holding her at bay by her hair. Minerva dared peek for a moment, and saw that his jaw clenched and his eyes shut; that could either be a wonderful thing on her behalf, or she had done something terrible wrong.

It must have been right, because the next thing she knew, he had dragged her up and forced her to bend over the desk, her hands flat against the smooth service as her breathing quickened. She used the desk as her support, her knees too weak at this point to hold her up, and her cheeks flamed as he dragged her thick skirt up.

"Oh, Minerva," he sighed gleefully as he pushed the fabric over her hips. "You may have been late, but at least you _listen_."

She tried to produce some sort of witty retort, but it fell flat when he thrust his entire length into her, filling her immediately and deeply in a way that almost made her want to scream. Her nails raked at the soft wood beneath her, lips parted and eyes scrunched tight as she bore the brunt of his deep, pointed thrusts. There was a small pleasure to it, but nothing more, and Minerva had to bite her lip to keep from telling him to stop. This was what he wanted. He could have anything he wanted…

However, the sensation soon overwhelmed her when he grabbed a fistful of hair once more and ripped her head to the side, her cheek pressed firmly against the desk. She winced as his thin fingers tug into her hip through the fabric of her plain dress, his actions growing progressively rougher as he took her.

"T-Tom," she stammered as he began to slow his movements to sharp, jerky thrusts. However, before she could ask him to stop, or possibly just take a break, he took the hand from her hair and placed it firmly over her mouth, using her for support as he pummeled her over the desk. She whimpered indignantly, and tried her hardest to peel his hand off. Unfortunately, his grip was too much for her to overcome in her compromised position, and she was forced to endure him until he finished.

It wasn't all terrible, naturally, and she found the angle of the position provided a deep-seated throb of pleasure that she did not experience often when they were together. However, the build-up started too late in the act, and his fingers pressed painfully into her cheeks when he finally did finish, his breathing harsh and shallow. Her jaw ached when he released her, and Minerva was quickly on her feet and readjusting her dress to hide her shame once he had let her go. Tom leaned on the desk, one arm propping him up, and she took a brief moment to kiss him gently, as though to reassure him she wasn't completely turned off by his sexual preferences. His lips pressed delicately to hers, and she could feel the heat from his skin emanating onto hers.

She cupped his cheek lightly; another sign of affection to show that he hadn't scared her off. She wasn't sure why she thought of it now; perhaps it was because he had just been completely open and honest about what he desired of her sexually, in a way he never had been before, and there was always an obvious sense of vulnerability that came with such an expression.

"I think-"

"No, no," he whispered, silencing her as he moved away and settled back into his chair. "We don't speak after."

Minerva blinked back her shock, and then watched him nod toward the door. Was he… dismissing her? Her cheeks reddened at the though, and she tried to speak once more, but stopped herself when his eyebrows shot up questioningly. Instead, she merely licked her lips and turned away, wishing he hadn't tossed the hair elastic somewhere on the floor earlier. She felt uncomfortable as she unlocked all three locks, and then slipped out of the office without another word. Anything he wanted. That had been the bargain.

A portrait clucked at her when she walked by, as though it was aware of what had just taken place, and Minerva shied away. It wasn't until she was back in her room, seated on her bed, stroking Gus absently, that she actually felt dirty.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<strong>

**There was a purpose to this. I don't like to casually throw sex scenes into stories like this for no reason at all, so that will be explained later by our favourite villain himself. **

**I'm sorry for the long gap between updates, but I have good news! I finally plotted out the rest of this story. I've always known what I wanted to do, but I think it seemed daunting because I hadn't ever just written out the basics before. So, basics are done, and I'm anticipating another eight chapters, possibly more if there is a creative spark between now and then. **

**Here's the general spiel I've been giving in all my "author's notes" sections in my stories - I'm back in uni full-time now for my fourth year, trying to have a social life, working part-time, and working on a novella for a romance publisher that I _hope_ will be picked up! So! That eats into posting time, and I think this general pattern of once a month is where we're going to be for updates. I'd like to do more, obviously, but that's the way it's looking.  
><strong>

**Much love to everyone who has stuck this out with me so far. I started this story just over a year ago, and it's been one of my instant favourites. Let's keep going strong, lovelies! **


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